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The Story of the Outlaw 




From a painting by John W. Norton 

plummer's men holding up the bannack stage 

(See page iig) 



THE 

STORY OF THE OUTLAW 

A STUDY OF THE WESTERN DESPERADO 



WITH HISTORICAL NARRATIVES OF FAMOUS OUT- 
LAWS; THE STORIES OF NOTED BORDER WARS; 
VIGILANTE MOVEMENTS AND ARMED 
CONFLICTS ON THE FRONTIER 



BY 

EMERSON HOUGH 




NEW YORK 
THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1907 



H^i- 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS I 
Two Cootes Received 

JAN 80 1907 

^opyrieht Entry m 
'0L<^. A XXc.iNof 



fUh.^>- 



•mm-mmmau 



Copyright, 1905, by 

THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Copyright, 1907, by 

EMERSON HOUGH 



Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England 



A II Rights Reserved 



THE OUTING PRESS 
DEPOSIT, N. Y. 



Preface v 



PREFACE 

IN offering this study of the American des- 
perado, the author constitutes himself no 
apologist for the acts of any desperado; 
yet neither does he feel that apology is needed 
for the theme Itself. The outlaw, the despe- 
rado — that somewhat distinct and easily recog- 
nizable figure generally known In the West as 
the "bad man" — is a character unique In our 
national history, and one whose like scarcely has 
been produced in any land other than this. It 
is not necessary to promote absurd and melo- 
dramatic Impressions regarding a type properly 
to be called historic, and properly to be handled 
as such. The truth itself is thrilling enough, 
and difficult as that frequently has been of dis- 
covery, it is the truth which has been sought 
herein. 

A thesis on the text of disregard for law 
might well be put to better use than to serve 
merely as exciting reading, fit to pass away an 



vi Preface 

idle hour. It might, and indeed it may — if 
the reader so shall choose — offer a foundation 
for wider arguments than those suggested in 
these pages, which deal rather with premises 
than conclusions. The lesson of our dealings 
with our bad men of the past can teach us, if 
we like, the best method of dealing with our 
bad men to-day. 

There are other lessons which we might take 
from an acquaintance with frontier methods of 
enforcing respect for the law; and the first of 
these is a practical method of handling criminals 
in the initial executive acts of the law. Never 
were American laws so strong as to-day, and 
never were our executive officers so weak. Our 
cities frequently are ridden with criminals or 
rioters. We set hundreds of policemen to restore 
order, but order is not restored. What is the 
average policeman as a criminal-taker? Cloddy 
and coarse of fiber, rarely with personal heredity 
of mental or bodily vigor, with no training at 
arms, with no sharp, incisive quality of nerve ac- 
tion, fat, unwieldy, unable to run a hundred 
yards and keep his breath, not skilled enough to 
kill his man even when he has him cornered, he 
is the archtype of all unseemliness as the agent 
of a law which to-day needs a sterner unholding 



Preface vii 

than ever was the case in all our national life. 
We use this sort of tools in handling criminals, 
when each of us knows, or ought to know, that 
the city which would select twenty Western 
peace officers of the old type and set them to 
work without restrictions as to the size of their 
imminent graveyards, would free itself of 
criminals in three months' time, and would re- 
main free so long as its methods remained in 
force. 

As for the subject-matter of the following 
work, it may be stated that, while attention has 
been paid to the great and well-known instances 
and epochs of outlawry, many of the facts 
given have not previously found their way into 
print. The story of the Lincoln County War 
of the Southwest is given truthfully for the first 
time, and after full acquaintance with sources 
of information now inaccessible or passing away. 
The Stevens County War of Kansas, which took 
place, as it were, but yesterday and directly at 
our doors, has had no history but a garbled one ; 
and as much might be said of many border 
encounters whose chief use heretofore has been 
to curdle the blood in penny-dreadfuls. Accu- 
racy has been sought among the confusing 
statements purporting to constitute the record 



viii Preface 

in such historic movements as those of the "vigi- 
lantes" of California and Montana mining days, 
and of the later cattle days when "wars" were 
common between thieves and outlaws, and the 
representatives of law and order, — themselves 
not always duly authenticated officers of the 
law. 

No one man can have lived through the en- 
tire time of the American frontier; and any 
work of this kind must be in part a matter of 
compilation in so far as it refers to matters of 
the past. In all cases where practicable, how- 
ever, the author has made up the records from 
stories of actual participants, survivors and eye- 
witnesses; and he is able in some measure to 
write of things and men personally known dur- 
ing twenty-five years of Western life. Captain 
Patrick F. Garrett, of New Mexico, central fig- 
ure of the border fighting In that district In the 
early railroad days, has been of much service In 
extending the author's Information on that re- 
gion and time. Mr. Herbert M. Tonney, now 
of Illinois, tells his own story as a survivor of 
the typical county-seat war of Kansas, In which 
he was shot and left for dead. Many other men 
have offered valuable narratives. 

In dealing with any subject of early American 



Preface ix 

history, there is no authority more incontestable 
than Mr. Alexander Hynds, of Dandridge, 
Tennessee, whose acquaintance with singular 
and forgotten bits of early frontier history bor- 
ders upon the unique in its way. Neither does 
better authority exist than Hon. N. P. Lang- 
ford, of Minnesota, upon all matters having 
to do with life in the Rocky Mountain region 
in the decade of 1 860-1 870. He was an argo- 
naut of the Rockies and a citizen of Montana 
and of other Western territories before the com- 
ing of the days of law. Free quotations are made 
from his graphic work, " Vigilante Days and 
Ways," which is both interesting of itself and 
valuable as a historical record. 

The stories of modern train-robbing bandits 
and outlaw gangs are taken partly from per- 
sonal narratives, partly from judicial records, 
and partly from works frequently more sensa- 
tional than accurate, and requiring much sift- 
ing and verifying In detail. Naturally, very 
many volumes of Western history and adventure 
have been consulted. Much of this labor has 
been one of love for the days and places con- 
cerned, which exist no longer as they once did. 
The total result, It Is hoped, will aid In telling 
at least a portion of the story of the vivid and 



X Preface 

significant life of the West, and of that frontier 
whose van, if ever marked by human lawless- 
ness, has, none the less, ever been led by the 
banner of human liberty. May that banner still 
wave to-day, and though blood be again the 
price, may it never permanently be replaced by 
that of license and injustice in our America. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Desperado . . . . i 

II The Imitation Desperado . .14 

III The Land of the Desperado . . 22 

IV The Early Outlaw . . .35 
V The Vigilantes of California . 74 

VI The Outlaw of the Mountains . 98 

VII Henry Plummer .... 105 

VIII Boone Helm 127 

IX Death Scenes of Desperadoes . 137 

X Joseph A. Slade . . . .145 

XI The Desperado of the Plains . .154 

XII Wild Bill Hickok . . . .167 

XIII Frontier Wars . . . .187 

XIV The Lincoln County War . .196 
XV The Stevens County War . . 227 

XVI Biographies of Bad Men . . . 256 

XVII The Fight of Buckshot Roberts . 284 

xi 



xii Contents 

CHAPTER PAGB 

XVIII The Man Hunt . . . .292 

XIX Bad Men of Texas . . . -313 

XX Modern Bad Men . . . . 340 

XXI Bad Men of the Indian Nations . 371 

XXII Desperadoes of the Cities . . 393 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Plummer's Men Holding Up the Bannack Stage 
— {Frontispiece) 

The Scene of Many Little Wars 

Types of Border Barricades 

The Scene of Many Hangings . . 

How the Rustler Worked 

— ^ Wild Bin HIckok's Desperate Fight . 

John Simpson Chlsum .... 

Men Prominent In the Lincoln County War 

The " Women In the Case "... 

The McSween Store and Bank 

Billy the Kid 

" The Next Instant He Fired and Shot Olllnger 

Dead " 272 / 

Pat F. Garrett 294 -^ 

xiii 



FACING 
PAGE 


1 


. 12 




. 36 


/ 


. 138 


i 


. 164 


-• 


• 172 


y 


. 198 


•• 


. 218 


/ 


. 222 


/ 


. 240 




. 258 





xiv 


Illustrations 


A Typical Western Man-Hunt . 


FACING 
PAGE 

.302 


The Old Chisum Ranch . 


. 330 / 


The Old Fritz Ranch 


. . . 358 


A Border Fortress 


. . . 358 


"Afterward" . , . . 


. 398 



The Story of The Outlaw 



Chapter I 

The Desperado — Analysis of His Make-up — 
How the Desperado Got to Be Bad and fVhy 
— Some Men Naturally Skillful with Weapons 
— Typical Desperadoes. ::::::: 

ENERGY and action may be of two sorts, 
good or bad; this being as well as we 
can phrase it in human affairs. The 
live wires that net our streets are more danger- 
ous than all the bad men the country ever knew, 
but we call electricity on the whole good in its 
action. We lay it under law, but sometimes It 
breaks out and has Its own way. These out- 
breaks will occur until the end of time, in live 
wires and vital men. Each land in the world 
produces its own men Individually bad — and, in 
time, other bad men who kill them for the gen- 
eral good. 

There are bad Chinamen, bad Filipinos, bad 
Mexicans, and Indians, and negroes, and bad 



2 The Sto?y of 

white men. The white bad man is the worst 
bad man of the world, and the prize-taking bad 
man of the lot is the Western white bad man. 
Turn the white man loose in a land free of 
restraint — such as was always that Golden 
Fleece land, vague, shifting and transitory, 
known as the American West — and he simply 
reverts to the ways of Teutonic and Gothic for- 
ests. The civilized empire of the West has 
grown in spite of this, because of that other 
strange germ, the love of law, anciently im- 
planted in the soul of the Anglo-Saxon. That 
there was little difference between the bad man 
and the good man who went out after him 
was frequently demonstrated in the early roar- 
ing days of the West. The religion of progress 
and civilization meant very little to the Western 
town marshal, who sometimes, or often, was 
a peace officer chiefly because he was a good 
fighting man. 

We band together and "elect" political rep- 
resentatives who do not represent us at all. We 
"elect" executive officers who execute nothing 
but their own wishes. We pay innumerable 
policemen to take from our shoulders the bur- 
den of self-protection ; and the policemen do not 
do this thing. Back of all the law is the undele- 



The Outlaw 3 

gated personal right, that vague thing which, 
none the less, is recognized in all the laws and 
charters of the world; as England and France 
of old, and Russia to-day, may show. This 
undelegated personal right is in each of us, or 
ought to be. If there is in you no hot blood 
to break into flame and set you arbiter for your- 
self in some sharp, crucial moment, then God 
pity you, for no woman ever loved you if she 
could find anything else to love, and you are fit 
neither as man nor citizen. 

As the individual retains an undelegated 
right, so does the body social. We employ poli- 
ticians, but at heart most of us despise politicians 
and love fighting men. Society and law are not 
absolutely wise nor absolutely right, but only 
as a compromise relatively wise and right. The 
bad man, so called, may have been in large part 
relatively bad. This much we may say scientific- 
ally, and without the slightest cheapness. It 
does not mean that we shall waste any maudlin 
sentiment over a desperado ; and certainly it does 
not mean that we shall have anything but con- 
tempt for the pretender at desperadoism. 

Who and what was the bad man ? Scientific- 
ally and historically he was even as you and I. 
Whence did he come ? From any and all places. 



4 The Story of 

What did he look like? He came In all sorts 
and shapes, all colors and sizes — just as cow- 
ards do. As to knowing him, the only way was 
by trying him. His reputation, true or false, 
just or unjust, became, of course, the herald of 
the bad man in due time. The "killer" of a 
Western town might be known throughout the 
state or in several states. His reputation might 
long outlast that of able statesmen and public 
benefactors. 

What distinguished the bad man in peculiarity 
from his fellowman? Why was he better with 
weapons? What is courage, in the last analysis? 
We ought to be able to answer these questions 
in a purely scientific way. We have machines 
for photographing relative quickness of thought 
and muscular action. We are able to record the 
varying speeds of Impulse transmission in the 
nerves of different individuals. If you were 
picking out a bad man, would you select one 
who, on the machine, showed a dilatory nerve 
response? Hardly. The relative fitness for a 
man to be "bad," to become extraordinarily 
quick and skillful with weapons, could, without 
doubt, be predetermined largely by these scien- 
tific measurements. Of course, having no 
thought-machines In the early West, they got at 



Th*" Outlaw 



the matter by experimenting, and so, very often, 
by a graveyard route. You could not always 
stop to feel the pulse of a suspected killer. 

The use of firearms with swiftness and accu- 
racy was necessary in the calling of the des- 
perado, after fate had marked him and set him 
apart for the inevitable, though possibly long- 
deferred, end. This skill with weapons was a 
natural gift in the case of nearly every man 
who attained great reputation whether as killer 
of victims or as killer of killers. Practice assisted 
in proficiency, but a Wild Bill or a Slade or a 
Billy the Kid was born and not made. 

Quickness in nerve action is usually backed 
with good digestion, and hard life in the open 
Is good medicine for the latter. This, however, 
does not wholly cover the case. A slow man 
also might be a brave man. Sooner or later. If 
he went into the desperado business on either 
side of the game, he would fall before the man 
who was brave as himself and a fraction faster 
with the gun. 

There were unknown numbers of potential bad 
men who died mute and Inglorious after a life 
spent at a desk or a plow. They might have 
been bad If matters had shaped right for that. 
Each war brings out its own heroes from un- 



6 The Story of 

suspected places; each sudden emergency sum- 
mons its own fit man. Say that a man took 
to the use of weapons, and found himself arbi- 
ter of life and death with lesser animals, and 
able to grant them either at a distance. He 
went on, pleased with his growing skill with 
firearms. He discovered that as the sword 
had in one age of the world lengthened 
the human arm, so did the six-shooter — that 
epochal instrument, invented at precisely that 
time of the American life when the human 
arm needed lengthening — extend and strengthen 
his arm, and make him and all men equal. The 
user of weapons felt his powers increased. So 
now, in time, there came to him a moment of 
danger. There was his enemy. There was the 
affront, the challenge. Perhaps it was male 
against male, a matter of sex, prolific always in 
bloodshed. It might be a matter of property, 
or perhaps it was some taunt as to his own per- 
sonal courage. Perhaps alcohol came into the 
question, as was often the case. For one reason 
or the other, it came to the ordeal of combat. 
It was the undelegated right of one individual 
against that of another. The law was not in- 
voked — the law would not serve. Even as the 
quicker set of nerves flashed into action, the 



The Outlaw 



arm shot forward, and there smote the point 
of flame as did once the point of steel. The 
victim fell, his own weapon clutched in his hand, 
a fraction too late. The law cleared the killer. 
It was "self-defense." "It was an even break,'^ 
his fellowmen said; although thereafter they 
were more reticent with him and sought him out 
less frequently. 

"It was an even break," said the killer to him- 
self — "an even break, him or me." But, per- 
haps, the repetition of this did not serve to blot 
out a certain mental picture. I have had a bad 
man tell me that he killed his second man to 
get rid of the mental image of his first victim. 

But this exigency might arise again; indeed, 
most frequently did arise. Again the embryo 
bad man was the quicker. His self-approbation 
now, perhaps, began to grow. This was the 
crucial time of his life. He might go on now 
and become a bad man, or he might cheapen 
and become an imitation desperado. In either 
event, his third man left him still more confi- 
dent. His courage and his skill In weapons 
gave him assuredness and ease at the time of an 
encounter. He was now becoming a specialist. 
Time did the rest, until at length they buried 
him. 



8 The Story of 

The bad man of genuine sort rarely looked the 
part assigned to him In the popular Imagination. 
The long-haired blusterer, adorned with a dia- 
lect that never was spoken, serves very well in 
fiction about the West, but that is not the real 
thing. The most dangerous man was apt to be 
quiet and smooth-spoken. When an antagonist 
blustered and threatened, the most dangerous 
man only felt rising in his own soul, keen and 
stern, that strange exultation which often comes 
with combat for the man naturally brave. A 
Western officer of established reputation once 
said to me, while speaking of a recent personal 
difficulty into which he had been forced: "I 
hadn't been in anything of that sort for years, 
and I wished I was out of it. Then I said to 
myself, *Is it true that you are getting old — 
<3 have you lost your nerve ?' Then all at once the 
^ old feeling came over me, and I was just like I 
V- used to be. I felt calm and happy, and I 
\ laughed after that. I jerked my gun and shoved 
\it Into his stomach. He put up his hands and 
apologized. 'I will give you a hundred dollars 
now,' he said, *lf you will tell me where you got 
that gun.' I suppose I was a trifle quick for 
him." 

The virtue of the "drop" was eminently re- 



The Outlaw 



spected among bad men. Sometimes, however, 
men were killed in the last desperate convic- 
tion that no man on earth was as quick as they. 
What came near being an incident of that kind 
was related by a noted Western sheriff. 

"Down on the edge of the Pecos valley," 
said he, "a dozen miles below old Fort Sumner, 
there used to be a little saloon, and I once cap- 
tured a man there. He came in from some- 
where east of our territory, and was wanted 
for murder. The reward offered for him was 
twelve hundred dollars. Since he was a 
stranger, none of us knew him, but the sheriff's 
descriptions sent in said he had a freckled face, 
small hands, and a red spot in one eye. I heard 
that there was a new saloon-keeper in there, 
and thought he might be the man, so I took a 
deputy and went down one day to see about it. 

''I told my deputy not to shoot until he saw 
me go after my gun. I didn't want to hold 
the man up unless he was the right one, and I 
wanted to be sure about that identification mark 
in the eye. Now, when a bartender is waiting 
on you, he will never look you in the face until 
just as you raise your glass to drink. I told 
my deputy that we would order a couple of 
drinks, and so get a chance to look this fellow 



lo The Story of 

in the eye. When he looked up, I did look him 
in the eye, and there was the red spot ! 

*'I dropped my glass and jerked my gun and 
covered him, but he just wouldn't put up his 
hands for a while. I didn't want to kill him, 
but I thought I surely would have to. He kept 
both of his hands resting on the bar, and I 
knew he had a gun within three feet of him 
somewhere. At last slowly he gave in. I 
treated him well, as I always did a prisoner, 
told him we would square it if we had made any 
mistake. We put irons on him and started for 
Las Vegas with him in a wagon. The next 
morning, out on the trail, he confessed every- 
thing to me. We turned him over, and later 
he was tried and hung. I always considered him 
to be a pretty bad man. So far as the result 
was concerned, he might about as well have 
gone after his gun. I certainly thought that 
was what he was going to do. He had sand. 
I could just see him stand there and balance the 
chances in his mind." 

"Another of the nerviest men I ever ran 
up against," the same officer went on, reflec- 
tively, "I met when I was sheriff of Dona Aiia 
county. New Mexico. I was in Las Cruces, 
when there came in a sheriff from over in the 



The Outlaw 1 1 

Indian Nations looking for a fugitive who had 
broken out of a penitentiary after killing a 
guard and another man or so. This sheriff told 
me that the criminal in question was the most 
desperate man he had ever known, and that no 
matter how we came on him, he would put up a 
fight and we would have to kill him before we 
could take him. We located our man, who was 
cooking on a ranch six or eight miles out of 
town. I told the sheriff to stay in town, be- 
cause the man would know him and would not 
know us. I had a Mexican deputy along 
with me. 

*'I put out my deputy on one side of the 
house and went in. I found my man just wiping 
his hands on a towel after washing his dishes. 
I threw down on him, and he answered by 
smashing me in the face, and then jumping 
through the window like a squirrel. I caught 
at him and tore the shirt off his back, but I 
didn't stop him. Then I ran out of the door 
and caught him on the porch. I did not want to 
kill him, so I struck him over the head with the 
handcuffs I had ready for him. He dropped, 
but came up like a flash, and struck me so hard 
with his fist that I was badly jarred. We fought 
hammer and tongs for a while, but at length 



12 The Story of 

he broke away, sprang through tKe door, and 
ran down the hall. He was going to his room 
after his gun. At that momfit my M xican 
came in, and having no sentiment about it, just 
whaled away and shot him a the back, killing 
him on the spot. The doctOx ^hen they 

examined this man's body that he as the most 
perfect physical specimen they had ever seen. 
I can testify that he was a fighter. The sheriff 
offered me the reward, but I wouldn't take any 
of it. I told him that I would be over in his 
country some time, and that I was sure he 
would do as much for me if I needed his help. 
I hope that if I do have to go after his par- 
ticular sort of bad people, I'll be lucky in get- 
ting the first start on my man. That man was 
as desperate a fighter as I ever saw or expect to 
see. Give a man of that stripe any kind of a 
show and he's going to kill you, that's all. He 
knows that he has no chance under the law. 
"Sometimes they got away with desperate 
chances, too, as many a peace officer has learned 
to his cost. The only way to go after such a 
man is to go prepared, and then to give him 
no earthly show to get the best of you. I don't 
mean that an officer ought to shoot down a man 
if he has a show to take his prisoner alive; but 
I do mean that he ouQ:ht to remember that he 



The Outlaw 13 

may be pitted against a man who is just as 
brave as he is, and just as good with a gun, and 
who is fighting for his life." 

Of course, such a man as this, whether con- 
fronted by an officer of the law or by another 
man against whom he has a personal grudge, 
or who has in any way challenged him to the 
ordeal of weapons, was steadfast in his own 
belief that he was as brave as any, and as quick 
with weapons. Thus, until at length he met 
his master in the law of human progress and 
civilization, he simply added to his own list of 
victims, or was added to the list of another of 
his own sort. For a very long time, moreover, 
there existed a great region on the frontier 
where the law could not protect. There was 
good reason, therefore, for a man's learning to 
depend upon his own courage and strength and 
skill. He had nothing else to protect him, 
whether he was good or bad. In the typical 
days of the Western bad man, life was the prop- 
erty of the Individual, and not of society, and 
one man placed his life against another's as the 
only way of solving hard personal problems. 
Those days and those conditions brought out 
some of the boldest and most reckless men the 
earth ever saw. Before we freely criticize them, 
we ought fully to understand them. 



14 The Story of 



Chapter II 

The Imitation Desperado — The Cheap ^^Long 
Hai/^ — A Desperado in Appearance, a Coward 
at Heart — Some Desperadoes Who Did Not 
^'Stand the Acid-'^ ::::::: 

THE counterfeit bad man, In so far as 
he has a place In literature, was largely 
produced by Western consumptives for 
Eastern consumption. Sometimes he was In per- 
son manufactured In the East and sent West. 
It Is easy to see the philosophical difference be- 
tween the actual bad man of the West and the 
Imitation article. The bad man was an evolu- 
tion; the Imitation bad man was an Instanta- 
neous creation, a supply arising full panoplied 
to fill a popular demand. Silently there arose, 
partly In the West and partly In the East, men 
who gravely and calmly proceeded to look the 
part. After looking the part for a time, to their 
own satisfaction at least, and after taking them- 



The Outlaw 1 5 

selves seriously as befitted the situation, they, in 
very many instances, faded away and disap- 
peared in that Nowhere whence they came. 
Some of them took themselves too seriously for 
their own good. Of course, there existed for 
some years certain possibilities that any one of 
these bad men might run against the real thing. 
There always existed in the real, sober, level- 
headed West a contempt for the West-struck 
man who was not really bad, but who wanted to 
seem "bad." Singularly enough, men of this 
type were not so frequently local products as 
immigrants. The "bootblack bad man" was a 
character recognized on the frontier — the city 
tough gone West with ambitions to achieve a 
bad eminence. Some of these men were par- 
tially bad for a while. Some of them, no doubt, 
even left behind them, after their sudden fu- 
nerals, the impression that they had been 
wholly bad. You cannot detect all the counter- 
feit currency in the world, severe as the test for 
counterfeits was In the old West. There Is, of 
course, no great amount of difference between 
the West and the East. All America, as well 
as the West, demanded of Its citizens nothing 
so much as genuineness. Yet the Western 
phrase, to "stand the acid," was not surpassed 



1 6 The Story of 

in graphic descriptlveness. When an Imitation 
bad man came into a town of the old frontier, 
he had to "stand the acid" or get out. His 
hand would be called by some one. "My 
friend," said old Bob Bobo, the famous Mis- 
sissippi bear hunter, to a man who was doing 
some pretty loud talking, "I have always 
noticed that when a man goes out hunting for 
trouble in these bottoms, he almost always finds 
it." Two weeks later, this same loud talker 
threatened a calm man in simple jeans pants, 
who took a shotgun and slew him impulsively. 
Now, the West got its hot blood largely from 
the South, and the dogma of the Southern town 
was the same in the Western mining town or 
cow camp — the bad man or the would-be bad 
man had to declare himself before long, and 
the acid bottle was always close at hand. 

That there were grades in counterfeit bad 
men was accepted as a truth on the frontier. A 
man might be known as dangerous, as a mur- 
derer at heart, and yet be despised. The imita- 
tion bad man discovered that it is comparatively 
easy to terrify a good part of the population of 
a community. Sometimes a base imitation of a 
desperado is exalted in the public eye as the real 
article. A- few years ago four misled hoodlums 



The Outlaw 1 7 

of Chicago held up a street-car barn, killed two 
men, stole a sum of money, killed a police- 
man and another man, and took refuge in 
a dugout in the sand hills below the city, com- 
porting themselves according to the most ac- 
cepted dime-novel standards. Clumsily arrested 
by one hundred men or so, instead of being tidily 
killed by three or four, as would have been the 
case on the frontier, they were put in jail, given 
columns of newspaper notice, and worshiped 
by large crowds of maudlin individuals. These 
men probably died In the belief that they were 
"bad." They were not bad men, but Imita- 
tions, counterfeit, and, indeed, nothing more 
than cheap and dirty little murderers. 

Of course, we all feel able to detect the mere 
notoriety hunter, who poses about In cheap pre- 
tentiousness; but now and then in the West there 
turned up something more difficult to under- 
stand. Perhaps the most typical case of Imita- 
tion bad man ever known, at least In the South- 
west, was Bob Ollinger, who was killed by Billy 
the Kid In 188 1, when the latter escaped from 
jail at Lincoln, New Mexico. That Ollinger 
was a killer had been proved beyond the possi- 
bility of a doubt. He had no respect for human 
life, and those who knew him best knew that he 



1 8 The Story of 

was a murderer at heart. His reputation was 
gained otherwise than through the severe test 
of an "even break." Some say that he killed 
Chavez, a Mexican, as he offered his own hand 
in greeting. He killed another man. Hill, in a 
similarly treacherous way. Later, when, as a 
peace officer, he was with a deputy. Pierce, serv- 
ing a warrant on one Jones, he pulled his gun 
and, without need or provocation, shot Jones 
through. The same bullet, passing through 
Jones's body, struck Pierce in the leg and left 
him a cripple for life. Again, Ollinger was out 
as a deputy with a noted sheriff in pursuit of a 
Mexican criminal, who had taken refuge in a 
ditch. Ollinger wanted only to get into a posi- 
tion where he could shoot the man, but his 
superior officer crawled alone up the ditch, and, 
rising suddenly, covered his man and ordered 
him to surrender. The Mexican threw down 
his gun and said that he would surrender to the 
sheriff, but that he was sure Ollinger would kill 
him. This fear was justified. "When I 
brought out the man," said the sheriff, "Ollin- 
ger came up on the run, with his cocked six- 
shooter in his hand. His long hair was flying 
behind him as he ran, and I never in my life 
saw so devilish a look on any human being's 



The Outlaw 1 9 

face. He simply wanted to shoot that Mexican, 
and he chased him around me until I had to tell 
him I would kill him if he did not stop." "Ollin- 
ger was a born murderer at heart," the sheriff 
added later. "I never slept out with him that 
I did not watch him. After I had more of a 
reputation, I think Ollinger would have been 
glad to kill me for the notoriety of it. I never 
gave him a chance to shoot me in the back or 
when I was asleep. Of course, you will under- 
stand that we had to use for deputies such ma- 
terial as we could get." 

Ollinger was the sort of imitation desperado 
that looks the part. He wore his hair long 
and affected the ultra-Western dress, which to- 
day is despised in the West. He was one of 
the very few men at that time — twenty-five 
years ago — who carried a knife at his belt. 
When he was in such a town as Las Vegas or 
Sante Fe, he delighted to put on a buckskin 
shirt, spread his hair out on his shoulders, and 
to walk through the streets, picking his teeth 
with his knife, or once in a while throwing it 
in such a way that it would stick up in a tree 
or a board. He presented an eye-filling spec- 
tacle, and was indeed the ideal imitation bad 
man. This being the case, there may be in- 



20 The Story of 

terest in following out his life to its close, and 
in noting how the bearing of the bad man's 
title sometimes exacted a very high price of 
the claimant. 

Ollinger, who had made many threats against 
Billy the Kid, was very cordially hated by the 
latter. Together with Deputy Bell, of White 
Oaks, Ollinger had been appointed to guard the 
Kid for two weeks previous to the execution of 
the death sentence which had been imposed upon 
the latter. The Kid did not want to harm Bell, 
but he dearly hated Ollinger, who never had 
lost an opportunity to taunt him. Watching his 
chance, the Kid at length killed both Bell and 
Ollinger, shooting the latter with Ollinger's 
own shotgun, with which Ollinger had often 
menaced his prisoner. 

Other than these two men, the Kid and Ollin- 
ger, I know of no better types each of his own 
class. One was a genuine bad man, and the 
other was the genuine Imitation of a bad man. 
They were really as far apart as the poles, and 
they are so held In the tradition of that bloody 
country to-day. Throughout the West there 
are two sorts of wolves — the coyote and the 
gray wolf. Either will kill, and both are lovers 
of blood. One is yellow at heart, and the other 



The Outlaw 2 1 

is game all the way through. In outward ap- 
pearance both are wolves, and In appearance 
they sometimes grade toward each other so 
closely that It Is hard to determine the species. 
The gray wolf Is a warrior and Is respected. 
The coyote Is a sneak and a murderer, and his 
name Is a term of reproach throughout the 
West. 



22 The Story of 



Chapter III 

The Land of the Desperado — The Frontier of 
the Old West — The Great Unsettled Regions 
— The Desperado of the Mountains — His 
Brother of the Plains — The Desperado of the 
Early Railroad Towns, ::::::: 

THERE was once a vast empire, almost 
unknown, west of the Missouri river. 
The white civilization of this conti- 
nent was three hundred years in reaching it. 
We had won our independence and taken our 
place among the nations of the world before 
our hardiest men had learned anything whatever 
of this Western empire. We had bought this 
vast region and were paying for it before we 
knew what we had purchased. The wise men 
of the East, leading men in Congress, said that 
it would be criminal to add this territory to our 
already huge domain, because it could never be 
settled. It was not dreamed that civilization 



The Outlaw 



23 



would ever really subdue It. Even much later, 
men as able as Daniel Webster deplored the 
attempt to extend our lines farther to the West, 
saying that these territories could not be States, 
that the East would suffer If we widened our 
West, and that the latter could never be of value 
to the union ! So far as this great West was 
concerned. It was spurned and held In contempt, 
and It had full right to take Itself as an outcast. 
Decreed to the wilderness forever, It could have 
been forgiven for running wild. Denominated 
as unfit for the occupation of the Eastern popu- 
lation, It might have been expected that It would 
gather to Itself a population all Its own. 

It did gather such a population, and In part 
that population was a lawless one. The fron- 
tier, clear across to the Pacific, has at one time 
or another been lawless ; but this was not always 
the fault of the men who occupied the frontier. 
The latter swept Westward with such unex- 
ampled swiftness that the machinery of the law 
could not always keep up with them. Where 
there are no courts, where each man is judge 
and jury for himself, protecting himself and his 
property by his own arm alone, there always 
have gathered also the lawless, those who do 
not wish the day of law to come, men who want 



24 The Story of 

license and not liberty, who wish crime and not 
lawfulness, who want to take what is not theirs 
and to enforce their own will in their own 
fashion. 

"There are two states of society perhaps 
equally bad for the promotion of good morals 
and virtue — the densely populated city and the 
wilderness. In the former, a single individual 
loses his identity in the mass, and, being un- 
noticed, is without the view of the public, and 
can, to a certain extent, commit crimes with 
impunity. In the latter, the population is sparse 
and, the strong arm of the law not being ex- 
tended, his crimes are in a measure unobserved, 
or, if so, frequently power is wanting to bring 
him to justice. Hence, both are the resort of 
desperadoes. In the early settlement of the 
West, the borders were Infested with despe- 
radoes flying from justice, suspected or con- 
victed felons escaped from the grasp of the law, 
who sought safety. The counterfeiter and the 
robber there found a secure retreat or a new 
theater for crime. *' 

The foregoing words were written In 1855 
by a historian to whom the West of the trans- 
Missouri remained still a sealed book; but they 
cover very fitly the appeal of a wild and un- 



The Outlaw 



25 



known land to a bold, a criminal, or an ad- 
venturous population. Of the trans-Missouri 
as we of to-day think of it, no one can write 
more accurately and understandingly than 
Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United 
States, who thus describes the land he knew and 
loved.* 

"Some distance beyond the Mississippi, 
stretching from Texas to North Dakota, and 
westward to the Rocky mountains, lies the 
plains country. This is a region of light rain- 
fall, where the ground is clad with short grass, 
while Cottonwood trees fringe the courses of 
the winding plains streams; streams that are 
alternately turbid torrents and mere dwindling 
threads of water. The great stretches of natu- 
ral pasture are broken by gray sage-brush plains, 
and tracts of strangely shaped and colored Bad 
Lands; sun-scorched wastes In summer, and in 
winter arctic in their iron desolation. Beyond 
the plains rise the Rocky mountains, their flanks 
covered with coniferous woods; but the trees 
are small, and do not ordinarily grow very 
close together. Toward the north the forest 
becomes denser, and the peaks higher; and gla- 

* " The Wilderness Hunters." G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and 
London. 



26 The Story of 

ciers creep down toward the valleys from the 
fields of everlasting snow. The brooks are 
brawling, trout-filled torrents; the swift rivers 
roam over rapid and cataract, on their way to 
one or other of the two great oceans. 

"Southwest of the Rockies evil and terrible 
deserts stretch for leagues and leagues, mere 
waterless wastes of sandy plain and barren 
mountain, broken here and there by narrow 
strips of fertile ground. Rain rarely falls, and 
there are no clouds to dim the brazen sun. 
The rivers run in deep canyons, or are swal- 
lowed by the burning sand; the smaller water- 
courses are dry throughout the greater part of 
the year. 

"Beyond this desert region rise the sunny 
Sierras of California, with their flower-clad 
slopes and groves of giant trees; and north of 
them, along the coast, the rain-shrouded moun- 
tain chains of Oregon and Washington, matted 
with the towering growth of the mighty ever- 
green forest." 

Such, then, was this Western land, so long 
the home of the out-dweller who foreran civili- 
zation, and who sometimes took matters of the 
law into his own hands. For purposes of con- 
venience, we may classify him as the bad man 



The Outlaw 27 

of the mountains and the bad man of the plains; 
because he was usually found In and around the 
crude localities where raw resources in property 
were being developed; and because, previous to 
the advent of agriculture, the two vast wilder- 
ness resources were minerals and cattle. The 
mines of California and the Rockies; the cattle 
of the great plains — write the story of these 
and you have much of the story of Western 
desperadolsm. For, In spite of the fact that 
the Ideal desperado was one who did not rob or 
kill for gain, the most usual form of early des- 
peradolsm had to do with attempts at unlaw- 
fully acquiring another man's property. 

The discovery of gold In California caused a 
flood of bold men, good and bad, to pour Into 
that remote region from all corners of the earth. 
Books could be written, and have been written, 
on the days of terror In California, when the 
Vigilantes took the law Into their own hands. 
There came the time later when the rich placers 
of Montana and other territories were pour- 
ing out a stream of gold rivaling that of the 
days of '49; and when a tide of restless and 
reckless characters, resigning or escaping from 
both armies In the Civil War, mingled with 
many others who heard also the imperious call 



28 The Story of 

of a land of gold, and rolled westward across 
the plains by every means of conveyance or 
locomotion then possible to man. 

The next great days of the wild West were 
the cattle days, which also reached their height 
soon after the end of the great war, when the 
North was seeking new lands for its young men, 
and the Southwest was hunting an outlet for the 
cattle herds, which had enormously multiplied 
while their owners were off at the wars. The 
cattle country had been passed over unnoticed 
by the mining men for many years, and dis- 
missed as the Great American Desert, as it had 
been named by the first explorers, who were 
almost as ignorant about the West as Daniel 
Webster himself. Into this once barren land, 
a vast region unsettled and without law, there 
now came pouring up the great herds of cattle 
from the South, in charge of men wild as the 
horned kine they drove. Here was another 
great wild land that drew, as a magnet, wild 
men from all parts of the country. 

This last home of the bad man, the old cattle 
range, is covered by a passage from an earlier 
work :* 

***The Story of the Cowboy," by E. Hough. D. Appleton & Co., 
New York. 



The Outlaw 29 

"The braiding of a hundred minor pathways, 
the Long Trail lay like a vast rope connecting 
the cattle country of the South with that of the 
North. Lying loose or coiling, it ran for more 
than two thousand miles along the eastern ridge 
of the Rocky mountains, sometimes close in at 
their feet, again hundreds of miles away across 
the hard table-lands or the well-flowered prai- 
ries. It traversed in a fair line the vast land 
of Texas, curled over the Indian Nations, over 
Kansas, Colorado, Nebraska, Wyoming and 
Montana, and bent in wide overlapping cir- 
cles as far west as Utah and Nevada; as far 
east as Missouri, Iowa, Illinois; and as far 
north as the British possessions. Even to-day 
you may trace plainly its former course, from 
its faint beginnings in the lazy land of Mexico, 
the Ararat of the cattle range. It is distinct 
across Texas, and multifold still in the Indian 
lands. Its many intermingling paths still scar 
the iron surface of the Neutral Strip, and the 
plows have not buried all the old furrows in the 
plains of Kansas. Parts of the path still remain 
visible In the mountain lands of the far North. 
You may see the ribbons banding the hillsides 
to-day along the valley of the Stillwater, and 
along the Yellowstone and toward the source 



30 The Story of 

of the Missouri. The hoof marks are beyond 
the Musselshell, over the Bad Lands and the 
coulees and the flat prairies ; and far up into the 
land of the long cold you may see, even to-day 
if you like, the shadow of that unparalleled path- 
way, the Long Trail of the cattle range. His- 
tory has no other like it. 

"This was really the dawning of the Ameri- 
can cattle industry. The Long Trail now re- 
ceived a gradual but unmistakable extension, 
always to the north, and along the line of the 
intermingling of the products of the Spanish 
and the Anglo-Saxon civilizations. The thrust 
was always to the north. Chips and flakes of 
the great Southwestern herd began to be seen 
in the northern states. Meantime the Anglo- 
Saxon civilization was rolling swiftly toward 
the upper West. The Indians were being driven 
from the plains. A solid army was pressing be- 
hind the vanguard of soldier, scout and plains- 
man. The railroads were pushing out into a 
new and untracked empire. In 1871 over six 
hundred thousand cattle crossed the Red river 
for the Northern markets. Abilene, Newton, 
Wichita, Ellsworth, Great Bend, "Dodge," 
flared out into a swift and sometime evil blos- 
soming. The Long Trail, which long ago had 



The Outlaw 



31 



found the black corn lands of Illinois and Mis- 
souri, now crowded to the West, until it had 
reached Utah and Nevada, and penetrated every 
open park and mesa and valley of Colorado, 
and found all the high plains of Wyoming. 
Cheyenne and Laramie became common words 
now, and drovers spoke wisely of the dangers 
of the Platte as a year before they had men- 
tioned those of the Red river or the Arkansas. 
Nor did the Trail pause in its irresistible push 
to the north until it had found the last of the 
five great trans-continental lines, far in the Brit- 
ish provinces. The Long Trail of the cattle 
range was done. By magic the cattle industry 
had spread over the entire West.'* 

By magic, also, the cattle industry called to 
itself a population unique and peculiar. Here 
were great values to be handled and guarded. 
The cowboy appeared, summoned out of the 
shadows by the demand of evolution. With 
him appeared also the cattle thief, making his 
living on free beef, as he had once on the free 
buffalo of the plains. The immense domain 
of the West was filled with property held under 
no better or more obvious mark than the imprint 
of a hot Iron on the hide. There were no fences. 
The owner might be a thousand miles away. 



32 The Story of 

The temptation to theft was continual and ur- 
gent. It seemed easy and natural to take a 
living from these great herds which no one 
seemed to own or to care for. The "rustler" 
of the range made his appearance, bold, hardy, 
unprincipled; and the story of his undoing by 
the law is precisely that of the finish of the 
robbers of the mines by the Vigilantes. 

Now, too, came the days of transition, which 
have utterly changed all the West. The rail- 
road sprang across this great middle country of 
the plains. The Intent was to connect the two 
sides of this continent; but, incidentally, and 
more swiftly than was planned, there was 
bullded a great midway empire on the plains, 
now one of the grandest portions of America. 

This building of the trans-continental lines 
was a rude and dangerous work. It took out 
into the West mobs of hard characters, not 
afraid of hard work and hard living. These 
men would have a certain amount of money as 
wages, and would assuredly spend these wages 
as they made them ; hence, the gambler followed 
the rough settlements at the "head of the rails." 
The murderer, the thief, the prostitute, the 
social outcast and the fleeing criminal went 
with the gamblers and the toughs. Those were 



The Outlaw 3 3 

the days when It was not polite to ask a man 
what his name had been back in the States. A 
very large percentage of this population was 
wild and lawless, and it impressed those who 
joined it instead of being altered and im- 
proved by them. There were no wilder days 
in the West than those of the early railroad 
building. Such towns as Newton, Kansas, 
where eleven men were killed in one night; 
Fort Dodge, where armed encounters among 
cowboys and gamblers, deputies and despera- 
does, were too frequent to attract attention; 
Caldwell, on the Indian border; Hays City, 
Abilene, Ellsworth — any of a dozen cow camps, 
where the head of the rails caught the great 
northern cattle drives, furnished chapters lurid 
enough to take volumes in telling — Indeed, per- 
haps, gave that stamp to the West which has 
been apparently so ineradicable. 

These were flourishing times for the Western 
desperado, and he became famous, and, as It 
were, typical, at about this era. Perhaps this 
was due In part to the fact that the railroads 
carried with them the telegraph and the news- 
paper, so that records and reports were made 
of what had for many years gone unreported. 
Now, too, began the influx of transients, who 



34 The Story of 

saw the wild West hurriedly and wrote of it as a 
strange and dangerous country. The wild citi- 
zens of California and Montana in mining days 
passed almost unnoticed except in fiction. The 
wild men of the middle plains now began to 
have a record in facts, or partial facts, as 
brought to the notice of the reading public 
which was seeking news of the new lands. A 
strange and turbulent day now drew swiftly on. 



The Outlaw 3 5 



Chapter IV 

The Early Outlaw — The Frontier of the Past 
Century — The Bad Man East of the Missis- 
sippi River — The Great Western Land-Pirate, 
John A. Murrell — The Greatest Slave Insur- 
rection Ever Planned. :::::: 

BEFORE passing to the review of the 
more modern days of wild life on the 
Western frontier, we shall find it inter- 
esting to note a period less known, but quite 
as wild and desperate as any of later times. 
Indeed, we might also say that our own despe- 
radoes could take lessons from their ancestors 
of the past generation who lived In the forests 
of the Mississippi valley. 

Those were the days when the South was 
breaking over the Appalachians and exploring 
the middle and lower West. Adventurers were 
dropping down the old river roads and "traces" 
across Kentucky, Tennessee, and Mississippi, 



36 The Story of 

into Louisiana and Texas. The flatboat and 
keel-boat days of the great rivers were at their 
height, and the population was in large part 
transient, migratory, and bold; perhaps holding 
a larger per cent, of criminals than any Western 
population since could claim. There were no 
organized systems of common carriers, no ac- 
cepted roads and highways. The great National 
Road, from Wheeling west across Ohio, paused 
midway of Indiana. Stretching for hundreds 
of miles in each direction was the wilderness, 
wherein man had always been obliged to fend 
for himself. And, as ever, the wilderness had 
its own wild deeds. Flatboats were halted and 
robbed; caravans of travelers were attacked; 
lonely wayfarers plodding on horseback were 
waylaid and murdered. In short, the story of 
that early day shows our first frontiersman 
no novice in crime. 

About twenty miles below the mouth of the 
Wabash river, there was a resort of robbers 
such as might belong to the most lurid dime- 
novel list — the famous Cave-in-the-Rock, in the 
bank of the Ohio river. This cavern was about 
twenty-five feet in height at its visible opening, 
and it ran back into the bluff two hundred feet, 
with a width of eighty feet. The floor of this 



W 

o 
o 

D 
w 

?:< 

5« 




The Outlaw 



37 



natural cavern was fairly flat, so that it could 
be used as a habitation. From this lower cave 
a sort of aperture led up to a second one, imme- 
diately above it in the bluff wall, and these two 
natural retreats of wild animals offered attrac- 
tions to wild men which were not unaccepted. 
It was here that there dwelt for some time the 
famous robber Meason, or Mason, who terror- 
ized the flatboat trade of the Ohio at about 
1800. Meason was a robber king, a giant in 
stature, and a man of no ordinary brains. He 
had associated with him his two sons and a 
few other hard characters, who together made a 
band sufficiently strong to attack any party of 
the size usually making up the boat companies 
of that time, or the average family traveling, 
mounted or on foot, through the forest-covered 
country of the Ohio valley. Meason killed and 
pillaged pretty much as he liked for a term of 
years, but as travel became too general along 
the Ohio, he removed to the wilder country 
south of that stream, and began to operate on 
the old "Natchez and Nashville Trace," one of 
the roadways of the South at that time, when 
the Indian lands were just opening to the early 
settlers. Lower Tennessee and pretty much all 
of Mississippi made his stamping-grounds, and 



38 The Story of 

his name became a terror there, as it had been 
along the Ohio. The governor of the State of 
Mississippi offered a reward for his capture, 
dead or ahve ; but for a long time he escaped all 
efforts at apprehension. Treachery did the 
work, as it has usually in bringing such bold and 
dangerous men to book. Two members of his 
gang proved traitors to their chief. Seizing 
an opportunity they crept behind him and 
drove a tomahawk into his brain. They cut 
off the head and took it along as proof; but 
as they were displaying this at the seat of 
government, the town of Washington, they 
themselves were recognized and arrested, and 
were later tried and executed; which ended the 
Meason gang, one of the early and once famous 
desperado bands. 

From the earliest days there have been border 
counterfeiters of coin. One of the first and 
most remarkable was the noted Sturdevant, who 
lived in lower Illinois, near the Ohio river, in 
the first quarter of the last century. Sturdevant 
was also something of a robber king, for he 
could at any time wind his horn and summon 
to his side a hundred armed men. He was 
ostensibly a steady farmer, and lived comfort- 
ably, with a good corps of servants and tenants 



The Outlaw 39 

about him ; but his ablest assistants did not dwell 
so close to him. He had an army of confeder- 
ates all over the middle West and South, and 
issued more counterfeit money than any man 
before, and probably than any man since. He 
always exacted a regular price for his money — 
sixteen dollars for a hundred in counterfeit — 
and such was the looseness of currency matters 
at that time that he found many willing to take 
a chance in his trade. He never allowed any 
confederate to pass a counterfeit bill in his own 
state, or in any other way to bring himself 
under the surveillance of local law; and they 
were all obliged to be especially circumspect 
in the county where they lived. He was a 
very smug sort of villain, in the trade strictly 
for revenue, and he was so careful that he was 
never caught by the law, in spite of the fact 
that It was known that his farm was the source 
of a flood of spurious money. He was finally 
"regulated" by the citizens, who arose and made 
him leave the country. This was one of the 
early applications of lynch law in the West. Its 
results were, as usual, salutary. There was no 
more counterfeiting in that region. 

A very noted desperado of these early days 
was Harpe, or Big Harpe, as he was called, to 



40 The Story of 

distinguish him from his brother and associate, 
Little Harpe. Big Harpe made a wide region 
of the Ohio valley dangerous to travelers. The 
events connected with his vicious life are thus 
given by that always interesting old-time chroni- 
cler, Henry Howe: 

"In the fall of the year 1801 or 1802, a com- 
pany consisting of two men and three women 
arrived in Lincoln county, Ky., and encamped 
about a mile from the present town of Stan- 
ford. The appearance of the individuals com- 
posing this party was wild and rude in the 
extreme. The one who seemed to be the leader 
of the band was above the ordinary stature of 
men. His frame was bony and muscular, his 
breast broad, his limbs gigantic. His clothing 
was uncouth and shabby, his exterior weather- 
beaten and dirty, indicating continual exposure 
to the elements, and designating him as one 
who dwelt far from the habitations of men, 
and mingled not in the courtesies of civilized 
life. His countenance was bold and ferocious, 
and exceedingly repulsive, from its strongly 
marked expression of villainy. His face, which 
was larger than ordinary, exhibited the lines 
of ungovernable passion, and the complexion 
announced that the ordinary feelings of the 



The Outlaw 4 1 

human breast were In him extinguished. In- 
stead of the healthy hue which indicates the 
social emotions, there was a livid, unnatural 
redness, resembling that of a dried and lifeless 
skin. His eye was fearless and steady, but 
it was also artful and audacious, glaring upon 
the beholder with an unpleasant fixedness and 
brilliancy, like that of a ravenous animal gloat- 
ing on its prey. He wore no covering on his 
head, and the natural protection of thick, coarse 
hair, of a fiery redness, uncombed and matted, 
gave evidence of long exposure to the rudest 
visitations of the sunbeam and the tempest. He 
was armed with a rifle, and a broad leathern 
belt, drawn closely around his waist, supported 
a knife and a tomahawk. He seemed, in short, 
an outlaw, destitute of all the nobler sympathies 
of human nature, and prepared at all points of 
assault or defense. The other man was smaller 
in size than him who lead the party, but simi- 
larly armed, having the same suspicious ex- 
terior, and a countenance equally fierce and 
sinister. The females were coarse and wretch- 
edly attired, 

"These men stated in answer to the Inquiry 
of the inhabitants, that their name was Harpe, 
and that they were emigrants from North Caro- 



42 The Story of 

Una. They remained at their encampment the 
greater part of two days and a night, spending 
the time In rioting, drunkenness and debauchery. 
When they left, they took the road leading to 
Green river. The day succeeding their depar- 
/ ture, a report reached the neighborhood that 
a young gentleman of wealth from Virginia, 
named Lankford, had been robbed and mur- 
dered on what was then called and Is still known 
as the "Wilderness Road," which runs through 
the Rock-castle hills. Suspicion Immediately 
fixed upon the Harpes as the perpetrators, and 
Captain Ballenger at the head of a few bold and 
resolute men, started In pursuit. They experi- 
enced great difficulty In following their trail, 
owing to a heavy fall of snow, which obliterated 
most of their tracks, but finally came upon them 
while encamped in a bottom on Green river, 
near the spot where the town of Liberty now 
stands. At first they made a show of resistance, 
but upon being Informed that if they did not 
Immediately surrender, they would be shot 
down, they yielded themselves prisoners. They 
f were brought back to Stanford, and there ex- 
amined. Among their effects were found some 
I fine linen shirts, marked with the initials of 
^ Lankford. One had been pierced by a bullet 



The Outlaw 43 

and was stained with blood. They had also a 
considerable sum of money In gold. It was 
afterward ascertained that this was the kind of 
money Lankford had with him. The evidence 
against them being thus conclusive, they were 
confined In the Stanford jail, but were after- 
ward sent for trial to Danville, where the dis- 
trict court was In session. Here they broke 
jail, and succeeded In making their escape. 

"They were next heard of In Adair county, 
near Columbia. In passing through the coun- 
try, they met a small boy, the son of Colonel 
Trabue, with a pillow-case of meal or flour, an 
article they probably needed. This boy. It Is 
supposed they robbed and then murdered, as 
he was never afterward heard of. Many years 
afterward human bones answering the size of 
Colonel Trabue's son at the time of his dis- 
appearance, were found In a sink hole near the 
place where he was said to have been murdered. 

"The Harpes still shaped their course toward 
the mouth of Green river, marking their path by 
murders and robberies of the most horrible and 
brutal character. The district of country 
through which they passed was at that time very 
thinly settled, and from this reason, their out- 
rages went unpunished. They seemed Inspired 



44 The Story of 

with the deadliest hatred against the whole 
human race, and such was their implacable mis- 
anthropy, that they were known to kill where 
there was no temptation to rob. One of their 
victims was a little girl, found at some distance 
from her home, whose tender age and helpless- 
ness would have been protection against any but 
incarnate fiends. The last dreadful act of bar- 
barity, which led to their punishment and ex- 
pulsion from the country, exceeded in atrocity 
all the others. 

"Assuming the guise of Methodist preachers, 
they obtained lodgings one night at a solitary 
house on the road. Mr. Stagall, the master 
of the house, was absent, but they found his 
wife and children, and a stranger, who, like 
themselves, had stopped for the night. Here 
they conversed and made inquiries about the 
two noted Harpes who were represented as 
prowling about the country. When they retired 
to rest, they contrived to secure an axe, which 
they carried with them into their chamber. In 
the dead of night, they crept softly down stairs, 
and assassinated the whole family, together with 
the stranger, in their sleep, and then setting fire 
to the house, made their escape. When Stagall 
returned, he found no wife to welcome him; 



The Outlaw 45 

no home to receive him. Distracted with grief 
and rage, he turned his horse's head from the 
smoldering ruins, and repaired to the house of 
Captain John Leeper. Leeper was one of the 
most powerful men in his day, and fearless as 
powerful. Collecting four or five men well 
armed, they mounted and started in pursuit of 
vengeance. It was agreed that Leeper should 
attack 'Big Harpe,' leaving 'Little Harpe' to 
be disposed of by Stagall. The others were 
to hold themselves in readiness to assist Leeper 
and Stagall, as circumstances might require. 

"This party found the women belonging to 
the Harpes, attending to their little camp by the 
roadside; the men having gone aside into the 
woods to shoot an unfortunate traveler, of the 
name of Smith, who had fallen into their hands, 
and whom the women had begged might not be 
dispatched before their eyes. It was this halt 
that enabled the pursuers to overtake them. 
The women Immediately gave the alarm, and 
the miscreants mounting their horses, which 
were large, fleet and powerful, fled In separate 
directions. Leeper singled out the 'Big Harpe,' 
and being better mounted than his companions, 
soon left them far behind. 'Little Harpe' 
succeeded in escaping from Stagall, and he, 



46 The Story of 

with the rest of his companions, turned and fol- 
lowed on the track of Leeper and the 'Big 
Harpe.' After a chase of about nine miles, 
Leeper came within gun-shot of the latter and 
fired. The ball entering his thigh, passed 
through it and penetrated his horse and both 
fell. Harpe's gun escaped from his hand and 
rolled some eight or ten feet down the bank. 
Reloading his rifle, Leeper ran to where the 
wounded outlaw lay weltering in his blood, and 
found him with one thigh broken, and the other 
crushed beneath his horse. Leeper rolled the 
horse away, and set Harpe In an easier position. 
The robber begged that he might not be killed. 
Leeper told him that he had nothing to fear 
from him, but that Stagall was coming up, and 
could not probably be restrained. Harpe ap- 
peared very much frightened at hearing this, 
and Implored Leeper to protect him. In a few 
moments, Stagall appeared, and without utter- 
ing a word, raised his rifle and shot Harpe 
through the head. They then severed the head 
from the body, and stuck it upon a pole where 
the road crosses the creek, from which the place 
was then named and Is yet called Harpe's Head. 
Thus perished one of the boldest and most noted 
freebooters that has ever appeared in America. 



The Outlaw 



M 



Save courage, he was without one redeeming 
quality, and his death freed the country from a 
terror which had long paralyzed its boldest 
spirits. 

"The 'Little Harpe' afterward joined the 
band of Meason, and became one of his most 
valuable assistants in the dreadful trade of rob- 
bery and murder. He was one of the two ban- 
dits that, tempted by the reward for their 
leader's head, murdered him, and eventually 
themselves suffered the penalty of the law as 
previously related." 

Thus it would seem that the first quarter of 
the last century on the frontier was not without 
Its own interest. The next decade, or that end- 
ing about 1840, however, offered a still greater 
instance of outlawry, one of the most famous 
ones indeed of American history, although lit- 
tle known to-day. This had to do with that 
genius in crime, John A. Murrell, long known 
as the great Western land-pirate; and surely 
no pirate of the seas was ever more enterprising 
or more dangerous. 

Murrell was another man who, in a decent 
walk of life, would have been called great. He 
had more than ordinary energy and intellect. 
He was not a mere brute, but a shrewd, cunning, 



48 The Story of 

scheming man, hesitating at no crime on earth, 
yet animated by a mind so bold that mere per- 
sonal crime was not enough for him. When it 
Is added that he had a gang of robbers and 
murderers associated with him who were said to 
number nearly two thousand men, and who were 
scattered over the entire South below the Ohio 
river, It may be seen how bold were his plans; 
and his ability may further be shown In the 
fact that for years these men lived among and 
mingled with their fellows In civil life, unknown 
and unsuspected. Some of them were said to 
have been of the best families of the land; and 
even yet there come to light strange and roman- 
tic tales, perhaps not wholly true, of death-bed 
confessions of men prominent in the South who 
admitted that once they belonged to Murrell's 
gang, but had later repented and reformed. A 
prominent Kentucky lawyer was one of these. 
Murrell and his confederates would steal 
horses and mules, or at least the common class, 
or division, known as the "strikers," would do 
so, although the members of the Grand Coun- 
cil would hardly stoop to so petty a crime. For 
them was reserved the murdering of travelers 
or settlers who were supposed to have money, 
and the larger operations of negro stealing. 



The Outlaw 



49 



The theft of slaves, the claiming of the run- | 
away rewards, the later re-stealing and re-selling \ 
and final killing of the negro in order to destroy i 
the evidence, are matters which Murrell reduced \ 
to a system that has no parallel in the criminal 
records of the country. But not even here did 
this daring outlaw pause. It was not enough 
to steal a negro here and there, and to make a 
few thousand dollars out of each negro so han- 
dled. The whole state of organized society 
was to be overthrown by means of this same 
black population. So at least goes one story 
of his life. We know of several so-called black 
insurrections that were planned at one time or 
another in the South — as, for instance, the Tur- 
ner insurrection in Virginia; but this Murrell 
enterprise was the biggest of them all. 

The plan was to have the uprising occur all 
over the South on the same day, Christmas of 
1835. The blacks were to band together and 
march on the settlements, after killing all the 
whites on the farms where they worked. There 
they were to fall under the leadership of Mur- 
rell's lieutenants, who were to show them how 
to sack the stores, to kill the white merchants, 
and take the white women. The banks of all 
the Southern towns were to become the property 



50 The Story of 

of Murrell and his associates. In short, at one 
stroke, the entire system of government, which 
had been established after such hard effort In 
that fierce wilderness along the old Southern 
"traces," was to be wiped out absolutely. The 
land was indeed to be left without law. The 
entire fruits of organized society were to be- 
long to a band of outlaws. This was proba- 
bly the best and boldest Instance ever seen of 
the narrowness of the line dividing society and 
savagery. 

Murrell was finally brought to book by his 
supposed confederate, Virgil A. Stewart, the 
spy, who went under the name of Hues, whose 
evidence, after many difiicultles, no doubt re- 
sulted In the breaking up of this, the largest 
and most dangerous band of outlaws this coun- 
try ever saw; although Stewart himself was a 
vain and ambitious notoriety seeker. Suppos- 
ing himself safe, Murrell gave Stewart a de- 
tailed story of his life. This was later used 
in evidence against him ; and although Stewart's 
account needs qualification, it Is the best and 
fullest record obtainable to-day.* 

"I was born In Middle Tennessee," Murrell 

* "Life and Adventures of Virgil A. Stewart." Harper and Brothers, 
New York. 1836. 



The Outlaw 5 1 

personally stated. "My parents had not much 
property, but they were intelligent people; and 
my father was an honest man I expect, and tried 
to raise me honest, but I think none the better 
of him for that. My mother was of the pure 
grit; she learned me and all her children to 
steal as soon as we could walk and would hide 
for us whenever she could. At ten years old 
I was not a bad hand. The first good haul I 
made was from a pedler who lodged at my 
father's house one night. 

"I began to look after larger spoils and ran 
several fine horses. By the time I was twenty I 
began to acquire considerable character, and 
concluded to go off and do my speculation where 
I was not known, and go on a larger scale; so 
I began to see the value of having friends in 
this business. I made several associates; I had 
been acquainted with some old hands for a long 
time, who had given me the names of some royal 
fellows between Nashville and Tuscaloosa, and 
between Nashville and Savannah in the state 
of Georgia and many other places. Myself 
and a fellow by the name of Crenshaw gathered 
four good horses and started for Georgia. We 
got in company with a young South Carolinian 
just before we reached Cumberland Mountain, 



52 The Story of 

and Crenshaw soon knew all about his business. 
He had been to Tennessee to buy a drove of 
hogs, but when he got there pork was dearer 
than he calculated, and he declined purchasing. 
We concluded he was a prize. Crenshaw 
winked at me; I understood his Idea. Cren- 
shaw had traveled the road before, but I never 
had; we had traveled several miles on the 
mountain, when we passed near a great preci- 
pice; just before we passed It, Crenshaw asked 
me for my whip, which had a pound of lead 
In the butt; I handed It to him, and he rode up 
by the side of the South Carolinian, and gave 
him a blow on the side of the head, and tum- 
bled him from his horse ; we lit from our horses 
and fingered his pockets; we got twelve hundred 
and sixty-two dollars. Crenshaw said he knew 
of a place to hide him, and gathered him under 
the arms, and I by his feet, and conveyed him 
to a deep crevice In the brow of the precipice, 
and tumbled him Into it; he went out of sight. 
We then tumbled in his saddle, and took his 
horse with us, which was worth two hundred 
dollars. We turned our course for South Ala- 
bama, and sold our horse for a good price. 
We frolicked for a week or more and were the 
highest larks you ever saw. We commenced 



The Outlaw 5 3 

sporting and gambling, and lost every cent of 
our money. 

"We were forced to resort to our profession 
for a second raise. We stole a negro man, and 
pushed for Mississippi. We had promised him 
that we would conduct him to a free state if he 
would let us sell him once as we went on our 
way; we also agreed to give him part of the 
money. We sold him for six hundred dollars; 
but, when we went to start, the negro seemed 
to be very uneasy, and appeared to doubt our 
coming back for him as we had promised. We 
lay In a creek bottom, not far from the place 
where we had sold the negro, all the next day, 
and after dark we went to the china-tree In the 
lane where we were to meet Tom; he had been 
waiting for some time. He mounted his horse, 
and we pushed with him a second time. We 
rode twenty miles that night to the house of a 
friendly speculator. I had seen him In Ten- 
nessee, and had given him several lifts. He 
gave me his place of residence, that I might find 
him when I was passing. He Is quite rich, and 
one of the best kind of fellows. Our horses 
were fed as much as they would eat, and two 
of them were foundered the next morning. We 
were detained a few days, and during that time 



54 The Story of 

our friend went to a little village in the neigh- 
borhood, and saw the negro advertised, with 
a description of the two men of whom he had 
been purchased, and with mention of them as 
suspicious personages. It was rather squally 
times, but any port in a storm; we took the 
negro that night to the bank of a creek which 
runs by the farm of our friend, and Crenshaw 
shot him through the head. We took out his 
entrails and sunk him in the creek; our friend 
furnished us with one fine horse, and we left 
him our foundered horses. We made our way 
through the Choctaw and Chickasaw Nations, 
and then to Williamson county, in this state. 
We should have made a fine trip if we had 
taken care of all we got. 

"I had become a considerable libertine, and 
when I returned home I spent a few months 
rioting in all the luxuries of forbidden pleas- 
ures with the girls of my acquaintance. My 
stock of cash was soon gone, and I put to my 
shift for more. I commenced with horses, and 
fan several from the adjoining counties. I had 
got associated with a young man who had pro- 
fessed to be a preacher among the Methodists, 
and a sharper he was; he was as slick on the 
tongue as goose-grease. I took my first lessons 



The Outlaw 5 5 

In divinity from this young preacher. He was 
highly respected by all who knew him, and well 
calculated to please ; he first put me In the notion 
of preaching, to aid me In my speculations. 

"I got Into difficulty about a mare that I had 
taken, and was Imprisoned for near three years. 
I shifted It from court to court, but was at last 
found guilty, and whipped. During my con- 
finement I read the scriptures, and became a 
good judge of theology. I had not neglected 
the criminal laws for many years before that 
time. When they turned me loose I was pre- 
pared for anything; I wanted to kill all but 
those of my own grit ; and I will die by the side 
of one of them before I will desert. 

"My next speculation was in the Choctaw 
region ; myself and brother stole two fine horses, 
and made our way into this country. We got 
in with an old negro man and his wife, and 
three sons, to go off with us to Texas, and 
promised them that, if they would work for us 
one year after we got there, we would let them 
go free, and told them many fine stories. The 
old negro became suspicious that we were going 
to sell him, and grew quite contrary; so we 
landed one day by the side of an island, and I 
requested him to go with me round the point 



56 The Story of 

of the island to hunt a good place to catch some 
fish. After we were hidden from our company 
I shot him through the head, and then ripped 
open his belly and tumbled him into the river. 
I returned to my company, and told them that 
the negro had fallen into the river, and that he 
never came up after he went under. We landed 
fifty miles above New Orleans, and went into 
the country and sold our negroes to a French- 
man for nineteen hundred dollars. 

"We went from where we sold the negroes 
to New Orleans, and dressed ourselves like 
young lords. I mixed with the loose characters 
at the swamp every night. One night, as I was 
returning to the tavern where I boarded, I was 
stopped by two armed men, who demanded my 
money. I handed them my pocketbook, and 
observed that I was very happy to meet with 
them, as we were all of the same profession. 
One of them observed, 'D — d if I ever rob a 
brother chip. We have had our eyes on you 
and the man that has generally come with you 
for several nights; we saw so much rigging and 
glittering jewelry, that we concluded you must 
be some wealthy dandy, with a surplus of cash; 
and had determined to rid you of the trouble 
of some of it; but, if you are a robber, here is 



The Outlaw 57 

your pocketbook, and you must go with us to- 
night, and we will give you an introduction to 
several fine fellows of the block; but stop, do 
you understand this motion?' I answered it, 
and thanked them for their kindness, and turned 
with them. We went to old Mother Surgick's, 
and had a real frolic with her girls. That night 
was the commencement of my greatness in what 
the world calls villainy. The two fellows who 
robbed me were named Haines and Phelps; 
they made me known to all the speculators that 
visited New Orleans, and gave me the name 
of every fellow who would speculate that lived 
on the Mississippi river, and many of its tribu- 
tary streams, from New Orleans up to all the 
large Western cities. 

"I had become acquainted with a Kentuckian, 
who boarded at the same tavern I did, and I 
suspected he had a large sum of money; I felt 
an inclination to count it for him before I left 
the city; so I made my notions known to Phelps 
and my other new comrades, and concerted our 
plan. I was to get him off to the swamp with 
me on a spree, and when we were returning to 
our lodgings, my friends were to meet us and 
rob us both. I had got very intimate with the 
Kentuckian, and he thought me one of the best 



58 The Story of 

fellows in the world. He was very fond of 
wine ; and I had him well fumed with good wine 
before I made the proposition for a frolic. 
When I invited him to walk with me he readily 
accepted the invitation. We cut a few shines 
with the girls, and started to the tavern. We 
were met by a band of robbers, and robbed of 
all our money. The Kentuckian was so mad 
that he cursed the whole city, and wished that 
it would all be deluged in a flood of water so 
soon as he left the place. I went to my friends 
the next morning, and got my share of the spoil 
money, and my pocketbook that I had been 
robbed of. We got seven hundred and fifty 
dollars of the bold Kentuckian, which was 
divided among thirteen of us. 

"I commenced traveling and making all the 
acquaintances among the speculators that I 
could. I went from New Orleans to Cincinnati, 
and from there I visited Lexington, in Ken- 
tucky. I found a speculator about four miles 
from Newport, who furnished me with a fine 
horse the second night after I arrived at his 
house. I went from Lexington to Richmond, 
in Virginia, and from there I visited Charles- 
ton, in the State of South Carolina; and from 
thence to Milledgeville, by the way of Savan- 



The Outlaw 59 



nah and Augusta, in the State of Georgia. I 
made my way from Milledgeville to William- 
son county, the old stamping-ground. In all 
the route I only robbed eleven men but I 
preached some fine sermons, and scattered some 
counterfeit United States paper among my 
brethren. 

"After I returned home from the first grand 
circuit I made among my speculators, I re- 
mained there but a short time, as I could not 
rest when my mind was not actively engaged 
in some speculation. I commenced the founda- 
tion of this mystic clan on that tour, and sug- 
gested the plan of exciting a rebellion among 
the negroes, as the sure road to an inexhaustible 
fortune to all who would engage in the expedi- 
tion. The first mystic sign which is used by 
this clan was in use among robbers before I 
was born; and the second had its origin from 
myself, Phelps, Haines, Cooper, Doris, Bolton, 
Harris, Doddridge, Celly, Morris, Walton, 
Depont, and one of my brothers, on the sec- 
ond night after my acquaintance with them in 
New Orleans. We needed a higher order to 
carry on our designs, and we adopted our sign, 
and called it the sign of the Grand Council of 



6o The Story of 

the Mystic Clan ; and practised ourselves to give 
and receive the new sign to a fraction before 
we parted; and, in addition to this improve- 
ment, we invented and formed a mode of cor- 
responding, by means of ten characters, mixed 
with other matter, which has been very con- 
venient on many occasions, and especially when 
any of us get into difficulties. I was encouraged 
in my new undertaking, and my heart began to 
beat high with the hope of being able one day 
to visit the pomp of the Southern and Western 
people in my vengeance; and of seeing their 
cities and towns one common scene of devasta- 
tion, smoked walls and fragments. 

"I decoyed a negro man from his master in 
Middle Tennessee, and sent him to Mill's 
Point by a young man, and I waited to see the 
movements of the owner. He thought his 
negro had run off. So I started to take pos- 
session of my prize. I got another friend at 
Mill's Point to take my negro in a skiff, and 
convey him to the mouth of Red river, while 
I took passage on a steamboat. I then went 
through the country by land, and sold my negro 
for nine hundred dollars, and the second night 
after I sold him I stole him again, and my 
friend ran him to the Irish bayou in Texas; I 



The Outlaw 6 1 

followed on after him, and sold my negro in 
Texas for five hundred dollars. I then re- 
solved to visit South America, and see if there 
was an opening in that country for a specula- 
tion ; I had also concluded that I could get some 
strong friends in that quarter to aid me in my 
designs relative to a negro rebellion; but of all 
people in the world, the Spaniards are the most 
treacherous and cowardly; I never want them 
concerned in any matter with me; I had rather 
take the negroes in this country to fight than 
a Spaniard. I stopped in a village, and passed 
as a doctor, and commenced practising medi- 
cine. I could ape the doctor first-rate, having 
read Ewel, and several other works on primi- 
tive medicine. I became a great favorite of an 
old Catholic; he adopted me as his son in the 
faith, and introduced me to all the best families 
as a young doctor from North America. I had 
been with the old Catholic but a very short 
time before I was a great Roman Catholic, and 
bowed to the cross, and attended regularly to 
all the ceremonies of that persuasion; and, to 
tell you the fact. Hues, all the Catholic religion 
needs to be universally received, is to be cor- 
rectly represented; but you know I care noth- 
ing for religion. I had been with the old 



62 The Story of 

Catholic about three months, and was getting 
a heavy practice, when an opportunity offered 
for me to rob the good man's secretary of nine 
hundred and sixty dollars in gold, and I could 
have got as much more in silver if I could have 
carried it. I was soon on the road for home 
again; I stopped three weeks In New Orleans 
as I came home, and had some high fun with 
old Mother Surgick's girls. 

"I collected all my associates in New Orleans 
at one of my friend's houses in that plare, and 
we sat in council three days before we^Dt all 
our plans to our notion; we then determined to 
undertake the rebellion at every hazard, and 
make as many friends as we could for that 
purpose. Every man's business being assigned 
him, I started for Natchez on foot. Having 
sold my horse in New Orleans with the Inten- 
tion of stealing another after I started, I 
walked four days, and no opportunity offered 
for me to get a horse. The fifth day, about 
twelve o'clock, I had become very tired, and 
stopped at a creek to get some water and rest 
a little. While I was sitting on a log, looking 
down the road I had come, a man came In sight 
riding a good-looking horse. The very mo- 
ment I saw him I determined to have his horse 



The Outlaw 63 

if he was In the garb of a traveler. He rode 
up, and I saw from his equipage that he was 
a traveler. I arose from my seat and drew an 
elegant rifle pistol on him, and ordered him to 
dismount. He did so, and I took his horse by 
the bridle, and pointed down the creek, and 
ordered him to walk before me. We went a 
few hundred yards and stopped. I hitched his 
horse, then made him undress himself, all to his 
shirt and drawers, and ordered him to turn 
his back to me. He asked me if I was going 
to shoot him. I ordered him the second time 
to turn his back to me. He said, 'If you are de- 
termined to kill me, let me have time to pray 
before I die.' I told him I had no time to hear 
him pray. He turned round and dropped on 
his knees, and I shot him through the back of 
the head. I ripped open his belly, and took out 
his entrails, and sunk him in the creek. I then 
searched his pockets, and found four hundred 
and one dollars and thirty-seven cents, and a 
number of papers that I did not take time to 
examine. I sunk the pocketbook and papers 
and his hat in the creek. His boots were brand 
new, and fitted me very genteelly, and I put 
them on, and sunk my old shoes in the creek 
to atone for them. I rolled up his clothes and 



64 . The Story of 

put them Into his portmanteau, as they were 
quite new cloth of the best quality. I mounted 
as fine a horse as ever I straddled, and directed 
my course to Natchez In much better style than 
I had been for the last five days. 

"I reached Natchez, and spent two days with 
my friends at that place and the girls under the 
Hill together. I then left Natchez for the 
Choctaw nation, with the Intention of giving 
some of them a chance for their property. As 
I was riding along between Benton and Ran- 
kin, planning for my designs, I was overtaken 
by a tall and good-looking young man, riding 
an elegant horse, which was splendidly rigged 
off; and the young gentleman's apparel was of 
the gayest that could be had, and his watch- 
chain and other jewelry were of the richest and 
best. I was anxious to know If he Intended to 
travel through the Choctaw nation, and soon 
managed to learn. He said he had been to the 
lower country with a drove of negroes, and 
was returning home to Kentucky. We rode on, 
and soon got very Intimate for strangers, and 
agreed to be company through the Indian na- 
tion. We were two fine-looking men, and, to 
hear us talk, we were very rich. I felt him on 
the subject of speculation, but he cursed the 



The Outlaw 65 

speculators, and said he was in a bad condi- 
tion to fall into the hands of such villains, as 
he had the cash with him that twenty negroes 
had sold for; and that he was very happy that 
he happened to get in company with me through 
the nation. I concluded he was a noble prize, 
and longed to be counting his cash. At length 
we came into one of those long stretches in the 
Nation, where there was no house for twenty 
miles, on the third day after we had been in 
company with each other. The country was 
high, hilly, and broken, and no water; just 
about the time I reached the place where I in- 
tended to count my companion's cash, I became 
very thirsty, and insisted on turning down a 
deep hollow, or dale, that headed near the road, 
to hunt some water. We had followed down 
the dale for near four hundred yards, when I 
drew my pistol and shot him through. He fell 
dead; I commenced hunting for his cash, and 
opened his large pocketbook, which was stuffed 
very full ; and when I began to open it I thought 
it was a treasure indeed; but oh! the contents 
of that book ! it was richly filled with the copies 
of love-songs, the forms of love-letters, and 
some of his own composition, — but no cash. 
I began to cut off his clothes with my knife, 



66 The Story of 

and examine them for his money. I found four 
dollars and a half in change in his pockets, and 
no more. And is this the amount for which 
twenty negroes sold? thought I. I recollected 
his watch and jewelry, and I gathered them in; 
his chain was rich and good, but it was swung 
to an old brass watch. He was a puff for true, 
and I thought all such fools ought to die as 
soon as possible. I took his horse, and swapped 
him to an Indian native for four ponies, and 
sold them on the way home. I reached home, 
and spent a few weeks among the girls of my 
acquaintance, in all the enjoyments that money 
could afford. 

"My next trip was through Georgia, South 
Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, and Mary- 
land, and then back to South Carolina, and 
from there round by Florida and Alabama. I 
began to conduct the progress of my opera- 
tions, and establish my emissaries over the 
country in every direction. 

"I have been going ever since from one place 
to another, directing and managing; but I have 
others now as good as myself to manage. This 
fellow, Phelps, that I was telling you of before, 
he is a noble chap among the negroes, and he 
wants them all free; he knows how to excite 



The Outlaw 67 

them as well as any person; but he will not do 
for a robber, as he cannot kill a man unless he 
has received an injury from him first. He is 
now in jail at Vicksburg, and I fear will hang. 
I went to see him not long since, but he is so 
strictly watched that nothing can be done. He 
has been in the habit of stopping men on the 
highway, and robbing them, and letting them 
go on; but that will never do for a robber; 
after I rob a man he will never give evidence 
against me, and there is but one safe plan in the 
business, and that is to kill — if I could not 
afford to kill a man, I would not rob. 

"The great object that we have in contem- 
plation is to excite a rebellion among the negroes 
throughout the slave-holding states. Our plan 
is to manage so as to have it commence every- 
where at the same hour. We have set on the 
25th of December, 1835, for the time to com- 
mence our operations. We design having our 
companies so stationed over the country, in the 
vicinity of the banks and large cities, that 
when the negroes commence their carnage and 
slaughter, we will have detachments to fire the 
towns and rob the banks while all is confusion 
and dismay. The rebellion taking place every- 
where at the same time, every part of the coun- 



68 The Story of 

try will be engaged In its own defence ; and one 
part of the country can afford no relief to an- 
other, until many places will be entirely over- 
run by the negroes, and our pockets replenished 
from the banks and the desks of rich mer- 
chants' houses. It is true that In many places 
in the slave states the negro population is not 
strong, and would be easily overpowered; but, 
back them with a few resolute leaders from our 
clan, they will murder thousands, and huddle 
the remainder into large bodies of stationary 
defence for their own preservation; and then, 
in many other places, the black population is 
much the strongest, and under a leader would 
overrun the country before any steps could be 
taken to suppress them. 

*'We do not go to every negro we see and tell 
him that the negroes Intend to rebel on the 
night of the 25th of December, 1835. We 
find the most vicious and wickedly disposed on 
large farms, and poison their minds by telling 
them how they are mistreated. When we are 
convinced that we have found a blood-thirsty 
devil, we swear him to secrecy and disclose to 
him the secret, and convince him that every 
other state and section of country where there 
are any negroes Intend to rebel and slay all the 



The Outlaw 69 

whites they can on the night of the 25th of De- 
cember, 1835, and assure him that there are 
thousands of white men engaged In trying to 
free them, who will die by their sides In battle. 
We have a long ceremony for the oath, which 
Is administered In the presence of a terrific pic- 
ture painted for that purpose, representing the 
monster who Is to deal with him should he prove 
unfaithful In the engagements he has entered 
Into. This picture Is highly calculated to make 
a negro true to his trust, for he Is disposed to be 
superstitious at best. 

"Our black emissaries have the promise of a 
share In the spoils we may gain, and we prom- 
ise to conduct them to Texas should we be de- 
feated, where they will be free; but we never 
talk of being defeated. We always talk of vic- 
tory and wealth to them. There Is no danger 
in any man. If you can ever get him once Impli- 
cated or engaged In a matter. That Is the way 
we employ our strikers In all things; we have 
them Implicated before we trust them from our 
sight. 

"This may seem too bold, but that is what I 
glory in. All the crimes I have ever committed 
have been of the most daring; and I have been 
successful In all my attempts as yet; and I am 



JO The Story of 

confident that I will be victorious in this matter, 
as in the robberies which I have in contempla- 
tion; and I will have the pleasure and honor of 
seeing and knowing that by my management I 
have glutted the earth with more human gore, 
and destroyed more property, than any other 
robber who has ever lived in America, or the 
known world. I look on the American people 
as my common enemy. My clan is strong, 
brave, and experienced, and rapidly increasing 
in strength every day. I should not be sur- 
prised if we were to be two thousand strong by 
the 25th of December, 1835; and, in addition 
to this, I have the advantage of any other leader 
of banditti that has ever preceded me, for at 
least one-half of my Grand Council are men of 
high standing, and many of them in honorable 
and lucrative offices." 

The number of men, more or less prominent, 
in the different states included: sixty-one from 
Tennessee, forty-seven from Mississippi, forty- 
six from Arkansas, twenty-five from Kentucky, 
twenty-seven from Missouri, twenty-eight from 
Alabama, thirty-three from Georgia, thirty-five 
from South Carolina, thirty-two from North 
Carolina, twenty-one from Virginia, twenty- 
seven from Maryland, sixteen from Florida, 



The Outlaw 7 1 

thirty-two from Louisiana. The transient mem- 
bers who made a habit of travehng from place 
to place numbered twenty-two ; Murrell said that 
there was a total list of two thousand men in 
his band, including all classes. 

To the foregoing sketch of Murrell's life 
Mr. Alexander Hynds, historian of Tennessee, 
adds some facts and comments which will en- 
able the reader more fully to make his own 
estimate as to this singular man: 

"The central meeting place of Murrell's 
band was near an enormous cottonwood tree 
in Mississippi county, Arkansas. It was stand- 
ing in 1890, and is perhaps still standing in the 
wilderness shortly above Memphis. His widely 
scattered bands had a system of signs and pass- 
words. Murrell himself was married to the 
sister of one of his gang. He bought a good 
farm near Denmark, Madison county, Tennes- 
see, where he lived as a plain farmer, while he 
conducted the most fearful schemes of rapine 
and murder from New Orleans up to Memphis, 
St. Louis and Cincinnati. 

"Nature had done much for Murrell. He 
had a quick mind, a fine natural address and 
great adaptability; and he was as much at ease 
amonof the refined and cultured as with his own 



72 2^ he Story of 

gang. He made a special study of criminal law, 
and knew something of medicine. He often 
palmed himself off as a preacher, and preached 
in large camp-meetings — and some were con- 
verted under his ministry! He often used his 
clerical garb in passing counterfeit money. 
With a clear head, cool, fine judgment, and a 
nature utterly without fear, moral or physical, 
his power over his men never waned. To them 
he was just, fair and amiable. He was a kind 
husband and brother, and a faithful friend. 
He took great pride in his position and in the 
operations of his gang. This conceit was the 
only weak spot in his nature, and led to his 
downfall. 

"Stewart, who purports to be Murrell's 
biographer, made Murrell's acquaintance, pre- 
tended to join his gang, and playing on his 
vanity, attended a meeting of the gang at the 
rendezvous at the Big Cottonwood, and saw 
the meeting of the Grand Council. He had 
Murrell arrested, and he was tried, convicted 
and sent to the Tennessee penitentiary in 1834 
for ten years. There he worked in the black- 
smith shops, but by the time he got out, was 
broken down in mind and body, emerging an 
imbecile and an Invalid, to live less than a year. 



The Outlaw 73 

"Stewart's account holds Inconsistencies and 
Inaccuracies, such as that many men high in 
social and official life belonged to MurrelPs 
gang, which his published lists do not show. 
He had perhaps 440 to 450 men, scattered from 
New Orleans to Cincinnati, but his downfall 
spread fear and distrust among them. 

"At VIcksburg, on July 4, 1835, a drunken 
member of the gang threatened to attack the 
authorities, and was tarred and feathered. 
Others of the gang, or at least several well- 
known gamblers, collected and defied the citi- 
zens, and killed the good and brave Dr. Bodley. 
Five men were hung, Hullams, Dutch BUI, 
North, Smith and McCall. The news swept 
like wildfire through the Mississippi Valley and 
gave heart to the lovers of law and order. At 
one or two other places some were shot, some 
were hanged, and now and then one or two were 
sent to prison, and thus an end was put to or- 
ganized crime in the Southwest forever; and 
this closed out the reign of the river cut- 
throats, pirates and gamblers as well." 

Thus, as in the case of Sturdevant, lynch law 
put an effectual end to outlawry that the law it- 
self could not control. 



74 The Story of 



Chapter V 

The Vigilantes of California — The Greatest 
Vigilante Movement of the fVorld — History of 
the California *'Str anglers'' and Their Methods. 

THE world will never see another Cali- 
fornia. Great gold stampedes there 
may be, but under conditions far dif- 
ferent from those of 1849. Transportation has 
been so developed, travel has become so swift 
and easy, that no section can now long remain 
segregated from the rest of the world. There 
is no corner of the earth which may not now be 
reached with a celerity impossible in the days 
of the great rush to the Pacific Coast. The 
whole structure of civilization, itself based upon 
transportation, goes swiftly forward with that 
transportation, and the tent of the miner or 
adventurer finds immediately erected by Its side 
the temple of the law. 

It was not thus in those early days of our 



The Outlaw 75 

Western history. The law was left far behind 
by reason of the exigencies of geography and of 
wilderness travel. Thousands of honest men 
pressed on across the plains and mountains in- 
flamed, it is true, by the madness of the lust 
for gold, but carrying at the outset no wish to 
escape from the watch-care of the law. With 
them went equal numbers of those eager to es- 
cape all restraints of society and law, men intend- 
ing never to aid in the uprearing of the social 
system in new wild lands. Both these elements, 
the law-loving and the law-hating, as they ad- 
vanced pari-passii farther and farther from the 
staid world which they had known, noticed the 
development of a strange phenomenon: that 
law, which they had left behind them, waned in 
importance with each passing day. The stand- 
ards of the old home changed, even as customs 
changed. A week's journey from the settle- 
ments showed the argonaut a new world. A 
month hedged it about to itself, alone, apart, 
with ideas and values of its own and inde- 
pendent of all others. A year sufficed to leave 
that world as distinct as though it occupied a 
planet all its own. For that world the divine 
fire of the law must be re-discovered, evolved, 
nay, evoked fresh from chaos even as the sav- 



76 The Story of 

age calls forth fire from the dry and sapless 
twigs of the wilderness. 

In the gold country all ideas and principles 
were based upon new conditions. Precedents 
did not exist. Man had gone savage again, 
and it was the beginning. Yet this savage, 
willing to live as a savage in a land which was 
one vast encampment, was the Anglo-Saxon 
savage, and therefore carried with him that 
chief trait of the American character, the prin- 
ciple that what a man earns — not what he steals, 
but what he earns — is his and his alone. This 
principle sowed in ground forbidding and un- 
promising was the seed of the law out of which 
has sprung the growth of a mighty civilization 
fit to be called an empire of its own. The 
growth and development of law under such con- 
ditions offered phenomena not recorded in the 
history of any other land or time. 

In the first place, and even while in transit, 
men organized for the purpose of self-protec- 
tion, and in this necessary act law-abiding and 
criminal elements united. After arriving at 
the scenes of the gold fields, such organization 
was forgotten; even the parties that had banded 
together in the Eastern states as partners rarely 
kept together for a month after reaching the 



The Outlaw JJ 

region where luck, hazard and opportunity, in- 
extricably blended, appealed to each man to act 
for himself and with small reference to others. 
The first organizations of the mining camps | 
were those of the criminal element. They 
were presently met by the organization of the ; I 
law and order men. Hard upon the miners' j \ 
law came the regularly organized legal ma- 
chinery of the older states, modified by local 
conditions, and irretrievably blended with a poli- 
tics more corrupt than any known before or 1 
since. Men were busy in picking up raw gold 
from the earth, and they paid small attention 
to courts and government. The law became an 
unbridled instrument of evil. Judges of the 
courts openly confiscated the property of their j 
enemies, or sentenced them with no reference to 
the principles of justice, with as great disregard 
for life and liberty as was ever known in the 
Revolutionary days of France. Against this 
manner of government presently arose the or- 
ganizations of the law-abiding, the justice-lov- , 
ing, and these took the law into their own stern 
hands. The executive officers of the law, the ■ 
sheriffs and constables, were in league to kill | 
and confiscate ; and against these the new agency \ 
of the actual law made war, constituting them- 



yS The Story of 

selves Into an arm of essential government, and 
openly called themselves Vigilantes. In turn 
criminals used the cloak of the Vigilantes to 
cover their own deeds of lawlessness and vio- 
lence. The Vigilantes purged themselves of the 
false members, and carried their own title of 
opprobrium, the "stranglers," with unconcern 
or pride. They grew In numbers, the love of 
justice their lodestone, until at one time they 
numbered more than five thousand In the city 
of San Francisco alone, and held that com- 
munity In a grip of lawlessness, or law, as you 
shall choose to term It. They set at defiance the 
chief executive of the state, erected an armed 
castle of their own, seized upon the arms of the 
mllltia, defied the government of the United 
States and even the United States army ! They 
were, as you shall choose to call them, criminals, 
or great and noble men. Seek as you may to- 
day, you will never know the full roster of their 
names, although they made no concealment of 
their Identity; and no one, to this day, has ever 
been able to determine who took the first step 
In their organization. They began their labors 
In California at a time when there had been 
more than two thousand murders — five hundred 
In one year — and not five legal executions. 



The Outlaw 79 

Their task included the erection of a fit struc- 
ture of the law, and, Incidentally, the destruc- 
tion of a corrupt and unworthy structure claim- 
ing the title of the law. In this strange, swift 
panorama there is all the story of the social 
system, all the picture of the building of that 
temple of the law which, as Americans, we now 
revere, or, at times, still despise and desecrate. 
At first the average gold seeker concerned 
himself little with law, because he intended to 
make his fortune quickly and then hasten back 
East to his former home; yet, as early as the 
winter of 1849, there was elected a legislature 
which met at San Jose, a Senate of sixteen mem- 
bers and an Assembly of thirty-six. In this 
election the new American vote was in evidence. 
The miners had already tired of the semi-mili- 
tary phase of their government, and had met 
and adopted a state constitution. The legisla- 
ture enacted one hundred and forty new laws 
In two months, and abolished all former laws; 
and then, satisfied with Its labors, It left the 
enforcement of the laws, in the good old Ameri- 
can fashion, to whomsoever might take an In- 
terest in the matter.* This is our custom even 
to-day. Our great cities of the East are prac- 

* Tuthill : < ' History of California. ' ' 



8o The Story of 

tically all governed, so far as they are governed 
at all, by civic leagues, civic federations, citi- 
zens' leagues, business men's associations — all 
protests at non-enforcement of the law. This 
protest in '49 and on the Pacific coast took a 
sterner form. 

At one time the city of San Francisco had 
three separate and distinct city councils, each 
claiming to be the only legal one. In spite of 
the new state organization, the law was much a 
matter of go as you please. Under such condi- 
tions it was no wonder that outlawry began to 
show its head in bold and well-organized forms. 
A party of ruffians, who called themselves the 
*'Hounds," banded together to run all foreign- 
ers out of the rich camps, and to take their dig- 
gings over for themselves. A number of Chile- 
ans were beaten or shot, and their property was 
confiscated or destroyed. This was not in ac- 
cordance with the saving grace of American 
justice, which devoted to a man that which 
he had earned. A counter organization was 
promptly formed, and the "Hounds" found 
themselves confronted with two hundred *'spe- 
cial constables," each with a good rifle. A 
mass meeting sat as a court, and twenty of the 
"Hounds" were tried, ten of them receiving 



The Outlaw 8 1 

sentences that never were enforced, but which 
had the desired effect. So now, while far to 
the eastward the Congress was hotly arguing 
the question of the admission of California as 
a state, she was beginning to show an interest 
in law and justice when aroused thereto. 

It was difficult material out of which to build 
a civilized community. The hardest popula- 
tion of the entire world was there; men savage 
or civilized by tradition, heathen or Christian 
once at least, but now all Californlan. Wealth 
was the one common thing. The average daily 
return in the work of mining ranged from 
twenty to thirty dollars, and no man might tell 
when his fortune might be made by a blow of 
a pick. Some nuggets of gold weighing twenty- 
five pounds were discovered. In certain dig- 
gings men picked pure gold from the rock 
crevices with a spoon or a knife point. As to 
values, they were guessed at, the only currency 
being gold dust or nuggets. Prodigality was 
universal. All the gamblers of the world met 
In vulture concourse. There was little in the 
way of home; of women almost none. Life 
was as cheap as gold dust. Let those who 
liked bother about statehood and government 
and politics; the average man was too busy dig- 



82 The Story of 

ging and spending gold to trouble over such 
matters. The most shameless men were those 
found in public office. Wealth and commerce 
waxed great, but law and civilization lan- 
guished. The times were ripening for the 
growth of some system of law which would 
offer proper protection to life and property. 
The measure of this need may be seen from the 
figures of the production of gold. From 1848 
to 1856 California produced between five hun- 
dred and six hundred million dollars In virgin 
gold. What wonder the courts were weak; 
and what wonder the Vigilantes became strong ! 
There were In California three distinct 
Vigilante movements, those of 1849, i^S^i 
and 1856, the earliest applying rather to the 
outlying mining camps than to the city of San 
Francisco. In 185 1, seeing that the courts 
made no attempt to punish criminals, a com- 
mittee was formed which did much toward 
enforcing respect for the principles of justice. 
If not of law. On June 11 they hanged John 
Jenkins for robbing a store. A month later 
they hanged James Stuart for murdering a 
sheriff. In August of the same summer they 
took out of jail and hanged Whittaker and 
McKenzie, Australian ex-convicts, whom they 



The Outlaw 83 



had tried and sentenced, but who had been 
rescued by the officers of the law. Two weeks 
later this committee disbanded. They paid no 
attention to the many killings that were going 
on over land titles and the like, but confined 
themselves to punishing men who had com- 
mitted intolerable crimes. Theft was as seri- 
ous as murder, perhaps more so, in the creed 
of the time and place. The list of murders 
reached appalling dimensions. The times were 
sadly out of joint. The legislature was corrupt, 
graft was rampant — though then unknown by 
that name — and the entire social body was rest- 
less, discontented, and uneasy. Politics had 
become a fine art. The judiciary, lazy and cor- 
rupt, was held in contempt. The dockets of 
the courts were full, and little was done to clear 
them effectively. Criminals did as they liked 
and went unwhipped of justice. It was truly 
a day of violence and license. 

Once more the sober and law-loving men of 
California sent abroad word, and again the 
Vigilantes assembled. In 1853 they hanged 
two Mexicans for horse stealing, and also a 
bartender who had shot a citizen near Shasta. 
At Jackson they hanged another Mexican for 
horse stealing, and at Volcano, in 1854, they 



84 The Story of 

hanged a man named Macy for stabbing an 
old and helpless man. In this instance ven- 
geance was very swift, for the murderer was 
executed within half an hour after his deed. 
The haste caused certain criticism when, in the 
same month one Johnson was hanged for stab- 
bing a man named Montgomery, at Iowa Hill, 
who later recovered. At Los Angeles three 
men were sentenced to death by the local court, 
but the Supreme Court issued a stay for two 
of them, Brown and Lee. The people as- 
serted that all must die together, and the mayor 
of the city was of the same mind. The third 
man, Alvitre, was hanged legally on January 
12, 1855. On that day the mayor resigned 
his office to join the Vigilantes. Brown was 
taken out of jail and hanged in spite of the 
decision of the Supreme Court. The people 
were out-running the law. That same month 
they hanged another murderer for killing the 
treasurer of Tuolumne county. In the follow- 
ing month they hanged three more cattle thieves 
in Contra Costa county, and followed this by 
hanging a horse thief in Oakland. A larger 
affair threatened in the following summer, 
when thirty-six Mexicans were arrested for 
killing a party of Americans. For a time it 



The Outlaw 85 

was proposed to hang all thirty-six, but sober 
counsel prevailed and only three were hanged; 
this after formal jury trial. Unknown bandits 
waylaid and killed Isaac B. Wall and T. S. 
Williamson of Monterey, and, that same 
month U. S. Marshal William H. Richard- 
son was shot by Charles Cora in the streets 
of San Francisco. The people grumbled. 
There was no certainty that justice would ever 
reach these offenders. The reputation of the 
state was ruined, not by the acts of the Vigi- 
lantes, but by those of unscrupulous and un- 
principled men in office and upon the bench. 
The government was run by gamblers, ruffians, 
and thugs. The good men of the state began 
to prepare for a general movement of purifi- 
cation and the installation of an actual law. 
The great Vigilante movement of 1856 was 
the result. 

The immediate cause of this last organiza- 
tion was the murder of James King, editor of 
the Bulletin, by James P. Casey. Casey, 
after shooting King, was hurried off to jail by 
his own friends, and there was protected by a 
display of military force. King lingered for 
six days after he was shot, and the state of 
public opinion was ominous. Cora, who had 



86 The Story of 

killed Marshal Richardson, had never been 
punished, and there seemed no likelihood that 
Casey would be. The local press was divided. 
The religious papers, the Pacific and the 
Christian Advocate, both openly declared that 
Casey ought to be hanged. The clergy 
took up the matter sternly, and one minister 
of the Gospel, Rev. J. A. Benton, of Sacra- 
mento, gave utterance to this remarkable but 
well-grounded statement : ^'A people can be jus- 
tified in recalling delegated power and resum- 
ing its exerciseJ' Before we hasten to criticize 
sweepingly under the term "mob law" such 
work as this of the Vigilantes, It will be well 
for us to weigh that utterance, and to apply 
it to conditions of our own times; to-day Is 
well-nigh as dangerous to American liberties as 
were the wilder days of California. 

Now, summoned by some unknown com- 
mand, armed men appeared in the streets of 
San Francisco, twenty-four companies in all, 
with perhaps fifty men in each company. The 
Vigilantes had organized again. They brought 
a cannon and placed it against the jail gate, 
and demanded that Casey be surrendered to 
them. There was no help for it, and Casey 
went away handcuffed, to face a court where 



The Outlaw * 87 

political influence would mean nothing. An 
hour later the murderer Cora was taken from 
his cell, and was hastened away to join Casey in 
the headquarters building of the Vigilantes. A 
company of armed and silent men marched on 
each side of the carriage containing the pris- 
oner. The two men were tried in formal ses- 
sion of the Committee, each having counsel, and 
all evidence being carefully weighed. 

King died on May 20, 1856, and on May 
22d was buried with popular honors, a long 
procession of citizens following the body to 
the cemetery. A popular subscription was 
started, and In a brief time over thirty thou- 
sand dollars was raised for the benefit of his 
widow and children. When the long proces- 
sion filed back Into the city, It was to witness, 
swinging from a beam projecting from a win- 
dow of Committee headquarters, the bodies of 
Casey and Cora. 

The Committee now arrested two more men, 
not for a capital crime, but for one which lay 
back of a long series of capital crimes — the 
stuffing of ballot-boxes and other election 
frauds. These men were Billy Mulligan and 
the prize-fighter known as Yankee Sullivan. 
Although advised that he would have a fair 



88 The Story of 

trial and that the death penalty would not be 
passed upon him, Yankee Sullivan committed 
suicide in his cell. The entire party of lawyers 
and judges were arrayed against the Commit- 
tee, naturally enough. Judge Terry, of the 
Supreme Court, issued a writ of habeas corpus 
for Mulligan. The Committee ignored the 
sheriff who was sent to serve the writ. They 
cleared the streets in front of headquarters, es- 
tablished six. cannon in front of their rooms, 
put loaded swivels on top of the roof and 
mounted a guard of a hundred riflemen. They 
brought bedding and provisions to their quar- 
ters, mounted a huge triangle on the roof for 
a signal to their men all over the city, arranged 
the interior of their rooms in the form of a 
court and, in short, set themselves up as the 
law, openly defying their own Supreme Court 
of the state. So far from being afraid of the 
vengeance of the law, they arrested two more 
men for election frauds, Chas. P. Duane and 
"Woolly" Kearney. All their prisoners were 
guarded in cells within the headquarters build- 
ing. 

The opposition to the Committee now or- 
ganized in turn under the name of the "Law 
and Order Men," and held a public meeting. 



The Outlaw 89 

This was numerously attended by members of 
the Vigilante Committee, whose books were now 
open for enrollment. Not even the criticism 
of their own friends stayed these men in their 
resolution. They went even further. Gov- 
ernor Johnson issued a proclamation to them to 
disband and disperse. They paid no more at- 
tention to this than they had to Judge Terry's 
writ of habeas corpus. The governor threat- 
ened them with the militia, but it was not 
enough to frighten them. General Sherman 
resigned his command in the state militia, and 
counseled moderation at so dangerous a time. 
Many of the militia turned in their rifles to the 
Committee, which got other arms from vessels 
in the harbor, and from carelessly guarded ar- 
mories. Halting at no responsibility, a band 
of the Committee even boarded a schooner 
which was carrying down a cargo of rifles from 
the governor to General Howard at San Fran- 
cisco, and seized the entire lot. Shortly after 
this they confiscated a second shipment which 
the governor was sending down from Sacra- 
mento in the same way; thus seizing property 
of the federal government. If there was such 
a crime as high treason, they committed it, and 
did so openly and without hesitation. Gov- 



90 The Story of 

ernor Johnson contented himself with drawing 
up a statement of the situation, which was sent 
down to President Pierce at Washington, with 
the request that he Instruct naval officers on 
the Pacific station to supply arms to the State 
of California, which had been despoiled by cer- 
tain of Its citizens. President Pierce turned 
over the matter to his attorney-general, Caleb 
Cushing, who rendered an opinion saying that 
Governor Johnson had not yet exhausted the 
state remedies, and that the United States gov- 
ernment could not Interfere. 

Little remained for the Committee to do to 
show its resolution to act as the State pro tern- 
'pore. That little it now proceeded to do by 
practically suspending the Supreme Court of 
California. In making an arrest of a witness 
wanted by the Committee, Sterling A. Hop- 
kins, one of the policemen retained for work 
by the Committee, was stabbed in the throat 
by Judge Terry, of the Supreme Bench, who 
was very bitter against all members of the 
Committee. It was supposed that the wound 
would prove fatal, and at once the Committee 
sounded the call for general assembly. The 
city went into two hostile camps, Terry and his 
friend, Dr. Ashe, taking refuge In the armory 



The Outlaw 9 1 

where the "Law and Order" faction kept their 
arms. The members of the Vigilante Commit- 
tee besieged this place, and presently took 
charge of Terry and Ashe, as prisoners. Then 
the scouts of the Committee went out after the 
arms of all the armories belonging to the gov- 
ernor and the "Law and Order" men who sup- 
ported him, the lawyers and politicians who felt 
that their functions were being usurped. Two 
thousand rifles were taken, and the opposing 
party was left without arms. The entire state, 
so to speak, was now in the hands of the "Com- 
mittee of Vigilance," a body of men, quiet, law- 
loving, law-enforcing, but of course technically 
traitors and criminals. The parallel of this sit- 
uation has never existed elsewhere In American 
history. 

Had Hopkins died the probability Is that 
Judge Terry would have been hanged by the 
Committee, but fortunately he did not die. 
Terry lay a prisoner In the cell assigned him 
at the Committee's rooms for seven weeks, by 
which time Hopkins had recovered from the 
wound given him by Terry. The case became 
one of national Interest, and tirades against 
"the Stranglers" were not lacking; but the 
Committee went on enrolling men. And it did 



92 The Story of 

not open its doors for its prisoners, although 
appeal was made to Congress in Terry's behalf 
— an appeal which was referred to the Com- 
mittee on Judiciary, and so buried. 

Terry was finally released, much to the re- 
gret of many of the Committee, who thought 
he should have been punished. The executive 
committee called together the board of dele- 
gates, and issued a statement showing that 
death and banishment were the only penalties 
optional with them. Death they could not in- 
flict, because Hopkins had recovered; and ban- 
ishment they thought impractical at that time, 
as it might prolong discussion indefinitely, and 
enforce a longer term in service than the Com- 
mittee cared for. It was the earnest wish of 
all to disband at the first moment that they 
considered their state and city fit to take care 
of themselves, and the sacredness of the ballot- 
box again insured. To assure this latter fact, 
they had arrayed themselves against the fed- 
eral government, as certainly they had against 
the state government. 

The Committee now hanged two more mur- 
derers — Hetherington and Brace — the former 
a gambler from St. Louis, the latter a youth 
of New York parentage, twenty-one years of 



The Outlaw 9 3 

age, but hardened enough to curse volubly 
upon the scaffold. By the middle of August, 
1856, they had no more prisoners In charge, 
and were ready to turn the city over to Its own 
system of government. Their report, pub- 
lished In the following fall, showed they had 
hanged four men and banished many others, 
besides frightening out of the country a large 
criminal population that did not tarry for ar- 
rest and trial. 

If opinion was divided to some extent in San 
Francisco, where those stirring deeds occurred, 
the sentiment of the outlying communities of 
California was almost a unit In favor of the 
Vigilantes, and their action received the sincere 
flattery of Imitation, as half a score of criminals 
learned to their sorrow on Impromptu scaffolds. 
There was no large general organization In 
any other community, however. After a time 
some of the banished men came back, and many 
damage suits were argued later In the courts; 
but small satisfaction came to those claimants, 
and few men who knew of the deeds of the 
^'Committee of Vigilance" ever cared to discuss 
them. Indeed it was practically certain that 
any man who ever served on a Western vigi- 
lance committee finished his life with sealed 



94 The Story of 

lips. Had he ventured to talk of what he knew 
he would have met contempt or something 
harsher. 

A political capital was made out of the sit- 
uation in San Francisco. The "Committee of 
Vigilance" felt that it had now concluded its 
work and was ready to go back to civil life. 
On August 1 8, 1856, the Committee marched 
openly in review through the streets of the city, 
five thousand one hundred and thirty-seven men 
in line, with three companies of artillery, eigh- 
teen cannon, a company of dragoons, and a 
medical staff of forty odd physicians. There 
were in this body one hundred and fifty men 
who had served in the old Committee in 1851. 
After the parade the men halted, the assem- 
blage broke up into companies, the companies 
into groups; and thus, quietly, with no vaunt- 
ing of themselves and no concealment of their 
acts, there passed away one of the most singu- 
lar and significant organizations of American 
citizens ever known. They did this with the 
quiet assertion that if their services were again 
needed, they would again assemble; and they 
printed a statement covering their actions in 
detail, showing to any fair-minded man that 
what they had done was indeed for the good 



The Outlaw 



msvrmaxmfim 



of the whole community, which hnd bi^vn 
wronged by those whom it had elected to 
power, those who had set themselves up as 
masters where they had been chosen as servants. 
The "Committee of Vigilance" of San Fran- 
cisco was made up of men from all walks of 
hfe and all political parties. It had any 
amount of money at its command that it re- 
quired, for its members were of the best and 
most influential citizens. It maintained, dur- 
ing its existence, quarters unique in their way, 
serving as arms-room, trial court, fortress, and 
prison. It was not a mob, but a grave and 
orderly band of men, and its deliberations were 
formal and exact, its labors being divided 
among proper sub-committees and boards. The 
quarters were kept open day and night, always 
ready for swift action, if necessary. It had an 
executive committee, which upon occasion con- 
ferred with a board of delegates composed of 
three men from each subdivision of the general 
body. The executive committee consisted of 
thirty-three members, and its decision was final ; 
but it could not enforce a death penalty except 
on a two-thirds vote of those present. It had 
a prosecuting attorney, and it tried no prisoner 
without assigning to him competent counsel. 



The Story of 



1* ' ■ (iso d '00 ce force, with a chief of po- 
lice and a sheritt with several deputies. In 
short, it took over the government, and was 
indeed the government, municipal and state in 
one. Recent as was its life, its deeds to-day 
are well-nigh forgotten. Though opinion may 
be still divided in certain quarters, California 
need not be ashamed of this "Committee of Vig- 
ilance." She should be proud of it, for it was 
largely through its unthanked and dangerous 
safeguarding of the public interests that Cali- 
fornia gained her social system of to-day. 

In all the history of American desperadoism 
and of the movements which have checked it, 
there is no page more worth study than this 
from the story of the great Golden State. The 
moral is a sane, clean, and strong one. The 
creed of the "Committee of Vigilance" is one 
which we might well learn to-day; and its prac- 
tice would leave us with more dignity of char- 
acter than we can claim, so long as we content 
ourselves merely with outcry and criticism, with 
sweeping accusation of our unfaithful public 
servants, and without seeing that they are pun- 
ished. There is nothing but manhood and free- 
dom and justice in the covenant of the Com- 
mittee. That covenant all American citizens 



The Outlaw 97 

should be ready to sign and live up to: "We 
do bind ourselves each unto the other by a 
solemn oath to do and perform every just and 
lawful act for the maintenance of law and 
order, and to sustain the laws when faithfully 
and properly administered. But we are deter- 
mined that no thief, burglar, incendiary, assas- 
sin, ballot-box stuff er or other disturber of the 
peace, shall escape punishment, either by quib- 
bles of the law, the carelessness of the police 
or a laxity of those who pretend to administer 
justice." 

What a man earns, that is his — such was the 
lesson of California. Self-government is our 
right as a people — that is what the Vigilantes 
said. When the laws failed of execution, then 
it was the people's right to resume the power 
that they had delegated, or which had been 
usurped from them — that is their statement as 
quoted by one of the ablest of many historians 
of this movement. The people might with- 
draw authority when faithless servants used it 
to thwart justice — that was what the Vigilantes 
preached. It is good doctrine to-day. 



98 The Story of 



Chapter VI 

The Outlaw of the Mountains — The Gold 
Stampedes of the '60V — Armed Bandits of the 
Mountain Mining Camps. :::::: 



T 



"^HE greatest of American gold stam- 
pedes, and perhaps the greatest of 
the world, not even excepting that of 
Australia, was that following upon the discov- 
ery of gold In California. For twenty years 
all the West was mad for gold. No other way 
would serve but the digging of wealth directly 
from the soil. Agriculture was too slow, com- 
merce too tame, to satisfy the bold population 
of the frontier. The history of the first strug- 
gle for mining claims In California — one stam- 
pede after another, as this, that and the other 
"strike" was reported In new localities — was 
repeated all over the vast region of the au- 
riferous mountain lands lying between the 
plains and California, which were swiftly pros- 



The Outlaw 99 

pected by men who had now learned well the 
prospector's trade. The gold-hunters lapped 
back on their own trails, and, no longer con- 
tent with California, began to prospect lower 
Oregon, upper Idaho, and Western Montana. 
Walla Walla was a supply point for a time. 
Florence was a great mountain market, and 
Lewiston. One district after another sprang 
Into prominence, to fade away after a year or 
two of feverish life. The placers near Ban- 
nack caught a wild set of men, who surged 
back from California. Oro Fino was a tem- 
porary capital; then the fabulously rich placer 
which made Alder Gulch one of the quickly 
perished but still unforgotten diggings. 

The flat valley of this latter gulch housed 
several "towns," but was really for a dozen 
miles a continuous string of miners' cabins. 
The city of Helena is built on the tailings of 
these placer washings, and Its streets are lit- 
erally paved with gold even to-day. Here in 
1863, while the great conflict between North 
and South was raging, a great community of 
wild men, not organized Into anything fit to 
be called society, divided and fought bitterly 
for control of the apparently exhaustless wealth 
which came pouring from the virgin mines. 

LOf a 



ioo The Story of 

rhese clashing factions repeated, In Intensified 
form, the history of California. They were 
even more utterly cut off from all the world. 
Letters and papers from the states had to reach 
the mountains by way of California, via the 
Horn or the Isthmus. Touch with the older 
civilization was utterly lost; of law there was 
none. 

Upon the social horizon now appeared the 
sinister figure of the trained desperado, the 
professional bad man. The business of out- 
lawry was turned Into a profession, one highly 
organized, relatively safe and extremely lucra- 
tive. There was wealth to be had for the ask- 
ing or the taking. Each miner had his buck- 
skin purse filled with native gold. This dust 
was like all other dust. It could not be traced 
nor Identified; and the old saying, '"Twas 
mine, 'tis his," might here of all places In the 
world most easily become true. Checks, drafts, 
currency as we know It now, all the means by 
which civilized men keep record of their prop- 
erty transactions, were unknown. The gold- 
scales established the only currency, and each 
man was his own banker, obliged to be his own 
peace officer, and the defender of his own 
property. 




JOHN SIMPSON CHISUM 

A famous cattle king, died December 2.3, 1884 



The Outlaw i o i 

Now our desperado appeared, the man who 
had killed his man, or, more likely, several 
men, and who had not been held sternly to an 
accounting for his acts; the man with the six- 
shooter and the skill to use it more swiftly and 
accurately than the average man; the man with 
the mind which did not scruple at murder. He 
found much to encourage him, little to oppose 
him. "The crowd from both East and West 
had now arrived. The town was full of gold- 
hunters. Expectation lighted up the counte- 
nance of every new-comer. Few had yet real- 
ized the utter despair of failure in a mining 
camp. In the presence of vice in all its forms, 
men who were staid and exemplary at home laid 
aside their morality like a useless garment, and 
yielded to the seductive influences spread for 
their ruin. The gambling-shops and hurdy- 
gurdy saloons — beheld for the first time by 
many of these fortune-seekers — lured them on 
step by step, until many of them abandoned all 
thought of the object they had in pursuit for 
lives of shameful and criminal indulgence. 
The condition of society thus produced was 
fatal to all attempts at organization, either for 
protection or good order." 

Yet the same condition made opportunity 



I02 The Story of 

for those who did not wish to see a society es- 
tablished. Wherever the law-abiding did not 
organize, the bandits did; and the strength of 
their party, the breadth and boldness of its 
operations, and the length of time it carried 
on its unmolested operations, form one of the 
most extraordinary Incidents In American his- 
tory. They killed, robbed, and terrorized over 
hundreds of miles of mountain country, for 
years setting at defiance all attempts at their 
restraint. They recognized no command ex- 
cept that of their "chief," whose title was al- 
ways open to contest, and who gained his own 
position only by being more skilful, more 
bloodthirsty, and more unscrupulous than his 
fellows. 

Henry Plummer, the most important captain 
of these cut-throats of the mountains, had a 
hundred or more men in his widely scattered 
criminal confederacy. More than one hundred 
murders were committed by these banditti in 
the space of three years. Many others were, 
without doubt, committed and never traced. 
Dead bodies were common in those hills, and 
often were unidentified. The wanderer from 
the States usually kept his own counsel. None 
knew who his family might be; and that fam- 



The Outlaw 103 

ily, missing a member who disappeared into the 
maw of the great West of that day of danger, 
might never know the fate of the one mysteri- 
ously vanished. 

These robbers had their confederates scat- 
tered in all ranks of life. Plummer himself 
was sheriff of his county, and had confederates 
In deputies or city marshals. This was a 
strange feature of this old desperadoism In the 
West — It paraded often in the guise of the law. 
We shall find further instances of this same ; 
phenomenon. Employes, friends, officials — 
there was none that one might trust. The or- 
ganization of the robbers even extended to the 
stage lines, and a regular system of communi- 
cation existed by which the allies advised each 
other when and where such and such a pas- 
senger was going, with such and such an \ 
amount of gold upon him. The holding up^'^ 
of the stage was something regularly expected, 
and the traveler who had any money or valu- 
ables drew a long breath when he reached a 
region where there was really a protecting law. 
Men were shot down in the streets on little or 
no provocation, and the murderer boasted of 
his crime and defied punishment. The dance- 
halls were run day and night. The drinking 



I04 The Story of 

of whiskey, and, moreover, bad whiskey, was 
a thing universal. Vice was everywhere and 
virtue was not. Those few who had an aim 
and an ambition In Hfe were long In the minor- 
ity and, In the welter of a general license, they 
might not recognize each other and join hands. 
Murder and pillage ruled, until at length the 
spirit of law and order, born anew of neces- 
sity, grew and gained power as it did In most 
early communities of the West. How these 
things In time took place may best be seen by 
reference to the bloody biographies of some of 
the most reckless desperadoes ever seen in any 
land. 



The Outlaw 105 



Chapter VII 

Henry Plummer — A Northern Bad Man — 
The Head of the Rohher Band in the Montana 
Mining Country — A Man of Brains and Abil- 
ity, hut a Cold-Blooded Murderer. : : : 

HENRY PLUMMER was for several 
years In the early '6o's the "chief" 
of the widely extended band of rob- 
bers and murderers who kept the placer-mlning 
fields of Montana and Idaho In a state of ter- 
ror. Posing part of the time as an officer of 
the law, he was all the time the leader In the 
reign of lawlessness. He was always ready for 
combat, and he so relied upon his own skill that 
he would even give his antagonist the advan- 
tage — or just enough advantage to leave him- 
self sure to kill him. His victims in duels of 
this sort were many, and, as to his victims In 
cold-blooded robbery, in which death wiped 
out the record, no one will ever know the list. 
Plummer was born in Connecticut In 1837, 



io6 The Story of 

and, until his departure as a young man for 
the West, he was all that might be expected 
of one brought up under the chastening influ- 
ences of a New England home. He received 
a good education, and became a polished, af- 
fable, and gentlemanly appearing man. He 
was about five feet ten, possibly five feet eleven 
Inches in height, and weighed about one hun- 
dred and sixty pounds, being rather slender In 
appearance. His face was handsome and his 
demeanor always frank and open, although he 
was quiet and did not often talk unless accosted. 
His voice was low and pleasant, and he had no 
bravado or swagger about him. His eye was 
light In color and singularly devoid of expres- 
sion. Two features gave him a sinister look — 
his forehead, which was low and brutish, and 
his eye, which was cold and fish-like. His was 
a strong, well-keyed nervous organization. He 
was quick as a cat when In action, though ap- 
parently suave and easy in disposition. He was 
a good pistol shot, perhaps the best of all the 
desperadoes who Infested Idaho and Montana 
at that time. Not even in his cups did he lose 
control of voice and eye and weapon. He was 
always ready — a cool, quiet, self-possessed, 
well-regulated killing machine. 



The Outlaw 107 

At the date of Plummer's arrival in the min- 
ing country, the town of Lewiston, Idaho, was 
the emporium of a wide region then embraced 
under the name of Idaho Territory; the latter 
also including Montana at that time. Where 
his life had been spent previous to that is not 
known, but it is thought that he came over from 
California. Plummer set up as a gambler, and 
this gave him the key to the brotherhood of the 
bad. Gamblers usually stick together pretty 
closely, and institute a sort of free-masonry 
of their own; so that Plummer was not long 
in finding, among men of his own profession 
and their associates, a number of others whom 
he considered safe to take into his confidence. 
Every man accepted by Plummer was a mur- 
derer. He would have no weaklings. No one 
can tell how many victims his associates had 
had before they went into his alliance; but it 
Is sure that novices In man-killing were not de- 
sired, nor any who had not been proved of 
nerve. Plummer soon had so many men that 
he set up a rendezvous at points on all the trails 
leading out from Lewiston to such mines as 
were producing any gold. One robbery fol- 
lowed another, until the band threw ofi all 
restraint and ran the towns as they liked, pay- 



io8 The Story of 

ing for what they took when they felt like It, 
and laughing at the protests of the minority 
of the population, which was placed In the hard 
strait of being In that country and unable to get 
out without being robbed. It was the Inten- 
tion to seize the property of every man who 
was there and who was not accepted as a mem- 
ber of the gang. 

One killing after another occurred on the 
trails, and man after man was lost and never 
traced. Assaults were made upon many men 
who escaped, but no criminal could be located, 
and. Indeed, there was no law by which any of 
them could be brought to book. The express 
riders were fired upon and robbed and the pack 
trains looted. No man expected to cross the 
mountain trails without meeting some of the 
robbers, and, when he did meet them, he ex- 
pected to be killed If he made resistance, for 
they outnumbered the parties they attacked in 
nearly all Instances. The outlaws were now 
indeed about three times as numerous as those 
not In sympathy with them. 

Rendered desperate by this state of affairs, 
a few resolute citizens who wanted law and 
order found each other out at last and organ- 
ized Into a vigilance committee, remembering 



The Outlaw 109 

the success of the Vigilantes of California, 
whose work was still recent history. Plummer 
himself was among the first to join this em- 
bryonic vigilante movement, as was the case 
in so many other similar movements In other 
parts of the West, where the criminal joined 
the law-loving in order to find out what the lat- 
ter intended to do. His address was such as 
to disarm completely all suspicion, and he had 
full knowledge of facts which enabled him to 
murder for vengeance as well as for gain. 

After Oro Fino was worked out as a placer 
field, the prospectors located other grounds 
east of the Salmon River range, at Elk City 
and Florence, and soon Lewiston was forsaken, 
all the population trooping off over the moun- 
tains to the new fields. This broke up the 
vigilante movement In Its infancy, and gave 
Plummer a longer lease of life for his plans. 
All those who had joined the vigilante move- 
ment were marked men. One after another 
they were murdered, none knew by whom, or 
why. Masked robbers were seen every day 
along the trails leading between one remote 
mining camp and another, but no one suspected 
Henry Plummer, who was serving well In his 
double role. 



1 1 o The Story of 

Meantime, additional placer grounds had 
been discovered a hundred and fifty miles south 
of Florence, on the Boise river, and some val- 
uable strikes were also made far to the north, 
at the upper waters of the Beaverhead. All the 
towns to the westward were now abandoned, 
and the miners left Florence as madly as they 
had rushed to It from Oro Fino and Elk City. 
West Bannack and East Bannack were now all 
the cry. To these new points, as may be sup- 
posed, the organized band of robbers fled with 
the others. Plummer, who had tried Elk City, 
Deer Lodge, and other points, now appeared 
at Bannack. 

One after another reports continued to come 
of placers discovered here and there in the 
upper Rockies. Among all these, the strikes on 
Gold Creek proved to be the most extensive and 
valuable. A few Eastern men, almost by acci- 
dent, had found fair ''pay" there, and returned 
to that locality when they found themselves 
unable to get across the snow-covered moun- 
tains to Florence. These few men at the Gold 
Creek diggings got large additions from expe- 
ditions made up in Denver and bound for Flor- 
ence, who also were unable to get across the 
Salmon River mountains. Yet others came 



The Outlaw m 



out in the summer of 1862, by way of the 
upper plains and the Missouri river, so that 
the accident of the season, so to speak, turned 
aside the traffic intended to reach Florence into 
quite another region. This fact, as events 
proved, had much to do with the later fate of 
Henry Plummer and his associates. 

These Eastern men were different from those 
who had been schooled in the mines of the 
Pacific Slope. They still clung to law and 
order; and they did not propose to be robbed. 
The first news of the strikes brought over the 
advance guard of the roughs who had been run- 
ning the other camps; and, as soon as these 
were unmasked by acts of their own, the little 
advance guard of civilization shot one of them, 
Arnett, and hung two others, Jernigan and 
Spillman« This was the real beginning of a 
permanent vigilante force in Montana. It 
afforded perhaps the only known instance of 
a man being buried with a six-shooter in one 
hand and a hand of cards in the other. Arnett 
was killed In a game of cards, and died with 
his death grip thus fixedo 

The new diggings did not at first prove 
themselves, and the camp at Bannack, on Grass- 
hopper Creek, was more prosperous. Henry 



112 The Story of 

Plummer, therefore, elected Bannack as his 
headquarters. Others of the loosely connected 
banditti began to drop Into Bannack from other 
districts, and Plummer was soon surrounded by 
his clan and kin in crime. George Ives, Bill 
Mitchell, Charlie Reeves, Cy Skinner, and 
others began operations on the same lines which 
had so distinguished them at the earlier dig- 
gings, west of the range. In a few weeks Ban- 
nack was as bad as Lewlston or Florence had 
ever been. In fact. It became so bad that the 
Vigilantes began to show their teeth, although 
they confined their sentences to banishment. 
The black sheep and the white began now to 
be segregated. 

Plummer, shrewd to see the drift of opinion, 
saw that he must now play his hand out to the 
finish, that he could not now reform. He ac- 
cordingly laid his plans to kill Jack Crawford, 
who was chosen as miners' sheriff. Plummer 
undertook one expedient after another to draw 
Crawford Into a quarrel, In which he knew he 
could kill him; for Plummer's speed with the 
pistol had been proved when he killed Jack 
Cleveland, one of his own best gun-fighters. 
Rumor ran that he was the best pistol shot in 
the Rockies and as bad a man as the worst. 



The Outlaw 



"3 



Plummer thought that Crawford suspected him 
of belonging to the bandits, and so doomed 
him. Crawford was wary, and defeated three 
separate attempts to waylay and kill him, be- 
sides avoiding several quarrels that were thrust 
upon him by Plummer or his men. Dick 
Phleger, a friend of Crawford, was also 
marked by Plummer, who challenged him to 
fight with pistols, as he frequently had chal- 
lenged Crawford. Phleger was a braver man 
than Crawford, but he declined the duel. 
Plummer would have killed them both. He 
only wanted the appearance of an "even break," 
with the later plea of "self-defence," which has 
shielded so many bad men from punishment 
for murder. 

Plummer now tried treachery, and told 
Crawford they would be friends. All the time 
he was hunting a chance to kill him. At length 
he held Crawford up In a restaurant, and stood 
waiting for him with a rifle. A friend handed 
Crawford a rifle, and the latter slipped up and 
took a shot from the corner of the house at 
Plummer, who was across the street. The ball 
struck Plummer's right arm and tore it to 
pieces. Crawford missed him with a second 
shot, and Plummer walked back to his own 



114 '^^^ Story of 

cabin. Here he had a long siege with his 
wound, refusing to allow his arm to be ampu- 
tated, since he knew he might as well be dead 
as so crippled. He finally recoVered, although 
the ball was never removed and the bone never 
knit. The ball lodged in his wrist and was 
found there after his death, worn smooth as 
silver by the action of the bones. Crawford 
escaped down the Missouri river, to which he 
fled at Fort Benton. He never came back to 
the country. Plummer went on practising with 
the six-shooter with his left hand, and became 
a very good left-hand shot. He knew that his 
only safety lay in his skill with weapons. 

Plummer's physician was Dr. Glick, who 
operated under cover of a shotgun, and with 
the cheerful assurance that if he killed Plum- 
mer by accident, he himself would be killed. 
After that Glick dressed the wounds of more 
than one outlaw, but dared not tell of it. 
Plummer admitted to him at last that these 
were his men and told Glick he would kill him 
if he ever breathed a word of this confidence. 
So the knowledge of the existence of the ban- 
ditti was known to one man for a long time. 

As to Bannack, it was one of the wildest 
camps ever known in any land. Pistol fire was 



The Outlaw 115 

heard Incessantly, and one victim after another 
was added to the list. George Ives, Johnny 
Cooper, George Carrhart, Hayes Lyons, Cy 
Skinner, and others of the toughs were now 
open associates of the leading spirit, Plummer. 
The condition of lawlessness and terror was 
such that all the decent men would have gone 
back to the States, but the same difficulties that 
had kept them from getting across to Florence 
now kept them from getting back East. The 
winter held them prisoners. 

Henry Plummer was now elected sheriff for 
the Bannack mining district, to succeed Craw- 
ford, whom he had run out of the country. It 
seems very difficult to understand how this 
could have occurred; but It will serve to show 
the numerical strength of Plummer's party. 
The latter, now married, professed to have re- 
formed. In reality, he was deeper In deviltry 
than ever In his life. 

The diggings at Gold Creek and Bannack 
were now eclipsed by the sensational discoveries 
on the famous Alder Gulch, one of the phe- 
nomenal placers of the world, and the most 
productive ever known In America. The stam- 
pede was fast and furious to these new dig- 
gings. In ten days the gulch was staked out 



1 1 6 The Story of 

for twelve miles, and the cabins of the miners 
were occupied for all of that distance, and scat- 
tered over a long, low flat, whose vegetation 
was quickly swept away. The new camp that 
sprung up on one end of this bar was called 
Virginia City. It need not be said that among 
the first settlers there were the outlaws earlier 
mentioned, with several others: Jack Galla- 
gher, Buck Stinson, Ned Ray, and others, these 
three named being "deputies" of "Sheriff" 
Plummer. A sort of court was formed for 
trying disputed mining claims. Charley Forbes 
was clerk of this court, and incidentally one of 
Plummer's band! This clerk and these depu- 
ties killed one Dillingham, whom they sus- 
pected of Informing a friend of a robbery 
planned to make away with him on the trail 
from Bannack to Virginia City. They were 
"tried" by the court and freed. Hayes Lyons 
admitted privately that Plummer had told him 
to kill the Informer Dillingham. The invari- 
able plan of this bloodthirsty man was to de- 
stroy unfavorable testimony by means of death. 
The unceasing flood of gold from the seem- 
ingly exhaustless gulch caused three or four 
more little camps or towns to spring up; but 
Virginia City now took the palm for frontier 



The Outlaw 117 

reputation in hardness. Ten millions in "dust" 
was washed out in one year. Every one had 
gold, sacks and cans of it. The wild license of 
the place was unspeakably vitiating. Fights 
with weapons were incessant. Rude dance 
halls and saloons were crowded with truculent, 
armed men in search of trouble. Churches and 
schools were unknown. Tents, log cabins, and 
brush shanties made the residences. "Hacks 
rattled to and fro between the several towns, 
freighted with drunken and rowdy humanity 
of both sexes. Citizens of acknowledged re- 
spectability often walked, more often perhaps 
rode side by side on horseback, with noted 
courtesans, in open day, through the crowded 
streets, and seemingly suffered no harm in repu- 
tation. Pistols flashed, bowie-knives flourished, 
oaths filled the air. This was indeed the reign 
of unbridled license, and men who at first re- 
garded it with disgust and terror, by constant 
exposure soon learned to become part of It, and 
to forget that they had ever been aught else. 
Judges, lawyers, doctors, even clergymen, could 
not claim exemption." 

This was in 1863. At that time, the nearest 
capitals were Olympia, on Puget Sound; Yank- 
ton, two thousand miles away; and Lewiston, 



1 1 8 The Story of 

seven hundred miles away. What machinery 
of the law was there to hinder Plummer and 
his men ? What better field than this one, liter- 
ally overflowing with gold, could they have 
asked for their operations? And what better 
chief than Plummer? 

His next effort was to be appointed deputy 
United States marshal, and he received the in- 
dorsement of the leading men of Bannack. 
Plummer afterward tried several times to kill 
Nathaniel P. Langford, who caused his defeat, 
but was unsuccessful in getting the opportunity 
he sought. 

From Bannack to Salt Lake City was about 
five hundred miles. Mails by this time came 
in from Salt Lake City, which was the supply 
point. If a man wanted to send out gold to 
his people in the States, it had to go over this 
long trail across the wild regions. There was 
no mail service, and no express office nearer 
than Salt Lake. Merchants sent out their 
funds by private messenger. Every such jour- 
ney was a risk of death. Plummer had clerks 
in every institution that was making money, 
and these kept him posted as to the times when 
shipments of dust were about to be made; they 
also told him when any well-staked miner was 



The Outlaw 119 

going out to the States. Plummer's men were 
posted all along these mountain trails. No one 
will ever know how many men were killed in all 
on the Salt Lake trail. 

There was a stage also between Bannack and 
Virginia City, and this was regarded as a legiti- 
mate and regular booty producer by the gang. 
Whenever a rich passenger took stage, a con- 
federate at the place put a mark on the vehicle 
so that it could be read at the next stop. At 
this point there was sure to be others of the 
gang, who attended to further details. Some- 
times two or three thousand dollars would be 
taken from a single passenger. A stage often 
carried fifteen or twenty thousand dollars in 
dust. Plummer knew when and where and how 
each stage was robbed, but in his capacity as 
sheriff covered up the traces of all his asso- 
ciates. 

The robbers who did the work were usually 
masked, and although suspicions were rife and 
mutterings began to grow louder, there was no 
actual evidence against Plummer until one day 
he held up a young man by name of Tilden, 
who voiced his belief that he knew the man 
who had held him up. Further evidence was 
soon to follow. A pack-train, bound for Salt 



I20 The Story of 

Lake, had no less than eighty thousand dollars 
in dust In Its charge, and Plummer had sent out 
Dutch John and Steve Marshland to hold up 
the train. The freighters were too plucky, and 
both the bandits were wounded, and so marked, 
although for the time they escaped. George 
Ives also was recognized by one or two victims 
and began to be watched on account of his 
numerous open murders. 

At length, the dead body of a young man 
named TIebalt was found In a thicket near 
Alder Gulch, under circumstances showing a re- 
volting murder. At last the slumbering spirit 
of the Vigilantes began to awaken. Two dozen 
men of the camp went out and arrested Long 
John, George Ives, Alex Carter, Whiskey Bill, 
Bob Zachary, and Johnny Cooper. These men 
were surprised in their camp, and among their 
long list of weapons were some that had been 
taken from men who had been robbed or mur- 
dered. These weapons were identified by 
friends. Old Tex was another man taken In 
charge, and George Hilderman yet another. 
All these men wanted a "jury trial," and wanted 
it at Virginia City, where Plummer would have 
official influence enough to get his associates re- 
leased! The captors, however, were men from 



The Outlaw 121 

Nevada, the other leading camp in Alder Gulch, 
and they took their prisoners there. 

At once a Plummer man hastened out on 
horseback to get the chief on the ground, rid- 
ing all night across the mountains to Bannack 
to carry the news that the citizens had at last 
rebelled against anarchy, robbery, and murder. 
On the following morning, two thousand men 
had gathered at Nevada City, and had resolved 
to try the outlaws. As there was rivalry be- 
tween Virginia and Nevada camps, a jury was 
made up of twenty-four men, twelve from each 
camp. The miners' court, most dread of all 
tribunals, was In session. 

Some forms of the law were observed. Long 
John was allowed to turn state's evidence. He 
swore that George Ives had killed TIebalt, and 
declared that he shot him while TIebalt was on 
his knees praying, after he had been told that 
he must die. Then a rope was put around his 
neck and he was dragged to a place of conceal- 
ment In the thicket where the body was found. 
TIebalt was not dead while so dragged, for 
his hands were found full of grass and twigs 
which he had clutched. Ives was condemned to 
death, and the law and order men were strong 
enough to suppress the armed disturbance at 



122 The Story of 

once started by his friends, none of whom could 
realize that the patient citizens were at last 
taking the law into their own hands. A scaf- 
fold was improvised and Ives was hung, — the 
first of the Plummer gang to meet retribution. 
The others then in custody were allowed to go 
under milder sentences. 

The Vigilantes now organized with vigor 
and determinationo One bit of testimony was 
added to another, and one man now dared to 
voice his suspicions to another. Twenty-five 
determined men set out to secure others of the 
gang now known to have been united in this 
long brotherhood. Some of these men were 
now fleeing the country, warned by the fate of 
Ives; but the Vigilantes took Red Yager and 
Buck Stinson and Ned Ray, two of them Plum- 
mer's deputies, as well as another confederate 
named Brown. The party stopped at the Lo- 
rain Ranch, near a cottonwood grove, and tried 
their prisoners without going into town. Red 
Yager confessed in full before he was hung, 
and it was on his testimony that the whole 
secret league of robbers was exposed and event- 
ually brought to justice. He gave the follow- 
ing list: 

Henry Plummer was chief of the gang; Bill 



The Outlaw 123 

Bunton, stool-pigeon and second In command; 
George Brown, secretary; Sam Bunton, road- 
ster; Cyrus Skinner, fence, spy and roadster; 
George Shears, horse thief and roadster; Frank 
Parish, horse thief and roadster; Bill Hunter, 
telegraph man and roadster; Ned Ray, council- 
room keeper at Bannack City; George Ives, 
Stephen Marshland, Dutch John (Wagner), 
Alex Carter, Whiskey Bill (Graves), Johnny 
Cooper, Buck Stinson, Mexican Frank, Bob 
Zachary, Boone Helm, Clubfoot George 
(Lane), Billy Terwilllger, Gad Moore, were 
roadsters. 

The noose was now tightening around the 
neck of the outlaw, Henry Plummer, whose 
adroitness had so long stood him In good stead. 
The honest miners found that their sheriff was 
the leader of the outlaws! His doom was said 
then and there, with that of all these others. 

A party of the Virginia City law and order 
men slipped over to Bannack, Henry Plum- 
mer's home. In a few hours the news had 
spread of what had happened at the other 
camps, and a branch organization of the Vigi- 
lantes was formed for Bannack. Stinson and 
Ray were now arrested, and then Plummer him- 
self, the chief, the brains of all this long-secret 



124 ^^^ Story of 

band of marauders. He was surprised with his 
coat and arms off, and taken prisoner. A few 
moments later, he was facing a scaffold, where, 
as sheriff, he had lately hung a man. The law 
had no delays. No court could quibble here. 
Not all Plummer's wealth could save him now, 
nor all his intellect and cool audacity. 

An agony of remorse and fear now came 
upon the outlaw' chief. He fell upon his knees, 
called upon God to save him, begged, pleaded, 
wept like a child, declared that he was too 
wicked to die thus soon and unprepared. It 
was useless. The full proof of all his many 
crimes was laid before him. 

Ray, writhing and cursing, was the first to 
be hanged. He got his finger under the rope 
around his neck and died hard, but died. Stin- 
son, also cursing, went next. It was then time 
for Plummer, and those who had this work in 
hand felt compunction at hanging a man so 
able, so urbane and so commanding. None the 
less, he was told to prepare. He asked for time 
to pray, and was told to pray from the cross- 
beam. He said good-by to a friend or two, and 
asked his executioners to "give him a good 
drop." He seemed to fear suffering, he who 
had caused so much suffering. To oblige him. 



The Outlaw 125 



the men lifted his body high up and let it fall, 
and he died with little struggle. 

To cut short a long story of bloody justice, 
It may be added that of the men named as 
guilty by Yager every one was arrested, tried, 
and hung by the Vigilantes. Plummer for some 
time must have dreaded detection, for he tried 
to cover up his guilt by writing back home to 
the States that he was in danger of being 
hanged on account of his Union sympathies. 
His family would not believe his guilt, and 
looked on him as a martyr. They sent out a 
brother and sister to look into the matter, but 
these too found proof which left them no chance 
to doubt. The whole ghastly revelation of a 
misspent life lay before them. Even Plummer's 
wife, whom he loved very much and who was 
a good woman, was at last convinced of what 
at first she could not believe. Plummer had 
been able to conceal from even his wife the least 
suspicion that was not an honorable man. His 
wife was east in the States at the time of his 
death. 

Plummer went under his true name. George 
Ives was a Wisconsin boy from near Racine. 
Both he and Plummer were twenty-seven years 
of age when killed, but they had compressed 



126 The Story of 

much evil into so short a span. Plummer him- 
self was a master of men, a brave and cool 
spirit, an expert with weapons, and In all not a 
bad specimen of the bad man at his worst. He 
was a murderer, but after all was not enough a 
murderer. No outlaw of later years so closely 
resembled the great outlaw, John A. Murrell, 
as did Henry Plummer, but the latter differed 
in one regard: — he spared victims, who later 
arose to accuse him. 

The frontier has produced few bloodier rec- 
ords than Plummer's. He was principal or 
accessory, as has been stated, In more than one 
hundred murders, not to mention innumerable 
robberies and thefts. His life was lived out 
In scenes typical of the early Western frontier. 
The madness of adventure in new wild fields, 
the lust of gold and its unparalleled abundance 
drove to crime men who might have been re- 
spected and of note in proper ranks of life and 
in other surroundings. 



The Outlaw 127 



Chapter VIII 

Boone Helm — A Murderer, Cannibal, and 
Robber — A Typical Specimen of Absolute 
Human Depravity. :::::: 

HENRY PLUMMER was what might 
be called a good instance of the gen- 
tleman desperado, If such a thing be 
possible; a man of at least a certain amount of 
refinement, and certainly one who, under dif- 
ferent surroundings, might have led a different 
life. For the sake of contrast. If for nothing 
else, we may take the case of Boone Helm, one 
of Plummer's gang, who was the opposite of 
Plummer In every way except the readiness to 
rob and kill. Boone Helm was bad, and noth- 
ing in the world could ever have made him 
anything but bad. He was, by birth and breed- 
ing, low, coarse, cruel, animal-like and utterly 
depraved, and for him no name but ruffian can 
fitly apply. 



128 The Story of 

Helm was born in Kentucky, but his family 
moved to Missouri during his early youth, so 
that the boy was brought up on the borderland 
between civilization and the savage frontier; 
for this was about the time of the closing days 
of the old Santa Fe Trail, and the towns of In- 
dependence and Westport were still sending 
out their wagon trains to the far mountain re- 
gions. By the time Boone Helm was grown, 
and soon after his marriage, the great gold 
craze of California broke out, and he joined 
the rush westward. Already he was a mur- 
derer, and already he had a reputation as a 
quarrelsome and dangerous man. He was of 
powerful build and turbulent temper, delight- 
ing in nothing so much as feats of strength, 
skill, and hardihood. His community was glad 
to be rid of him, as was, indeed, any community 
in which he ever lived. 

In the California diggings, Helm continued 
the line of life mapped out for him from birth. 
He met men of his own kidney there, and was 
ever ready for a duel with weapons. In this 
way he killed several men, no one knows how 
many; but this sort of thing was so common 
in the case of so many men in those days that 
little attention was paid to it. It must have 



The Outlaw 



129 



been a very brutal murder which at length 
caused him to flee the Coast to escape the ven- 
geance of the miners. He headed north and 
east, after a fashion of the times following 
the California boom, and was bound for the 
mountain placers in 1853, when he is recorded 
as appearing at the Dalles, Oregon. He and 
a half-dozen companions, whom he had picked 
up on the way, and most of whom were 
strangers to each other, now started out for 
Fort Hall, Idaho, Intending to go from there 
to a point below Salt Lake City. 

The beginning of the terrible mountain win- 
ter season caught these men somewhere west of 
the main range In eastern Oregon, in the 
depths of as rugged a mountain region as any 
of the West. They were on horseback, and so 
could carry small provisions; but In some way 
they pushed on deeper and deeper Into the 
mountains, until they got to the Bannack river, 
where they were attacked by Indians and 
chased into a country none of them knew.- At 
last they got over east as far as the Soda 
Springs on the Bear river, where they were on 
well-known ground. By this time, however, 
their horses had given out, and their food was 
exhausted. They killed their horses, made 



130 The Story of 

snowshoes with the hides, and sought to reach 
Fort Hall. The party was now reduced to one 
of those awful starving marches of the wilder- 
ness which are now and then chronicled in West- 
ern life. This meant that the weak must perish 
where they fell. 

The strength of Helm and one of the others, 
Burton, enabled them to push on ahead, leaving 
their companions behind in the mountains. 
Almost within reach of Fort Hall, Burton gave 
out and was left behind in an abandoned cabin. 
Helm pushed on into the old stockade, but 
found it also abandoned for the winter season, 
and he could get no food there. He then went 
back to where he had left Burton, and, accord- 
ing to his own report, he was trying to get wood 
for a fire when he heard a pistol-shot and re- 
turned to find that Burton had killed himself. 
He stayed on at this spot, and, like a hyena, 
preyed upon the dead body of his companion. 
He ate one leg of the body, and then, wrapping 
up the other in a piece of old shirt, threw It 
across his shoulder and started on further east. 
He had, before this on the march, declared to 
the party that he had practiced cannibalism at 
an earlier time, and proposed to do so again if 
it became necessary on this trip across the moun- 



The Outlaw 131 

tains. His calm threat was now verified. Helm 
was found at last at an Indian camp by John 
W. Powell, who learned that he was as hard 
a character as he had ever run across. None 
the less, he took care of Helm, gave him food 
and clothes, and took him to the settlements 
around Salt Lake. Powell found that Helm 
had a bag containing over fourteen hundred 
dollars in coin, which he had carried across the 
divide with him through all his hardships. He 
would take no pay from Helm, and the latter 
never even thanked him for his kindness, but 
left him as soon as he reached the Mormon 
settlements. 

Here the abandoned ruffian boasted of what 
he had done, and settled down for a brief time 
to the customary enjoyments of the rough when 
in town. He spent his money, hired out as a 
Danite, killed a couple of men whom the Mor- 
mons wanted removed, and soon got so bad 
that he had to leave. Once more he headed 
west to California, and once more he started 
back north from San Francisco, for reasons 
satisfactory to himself. While in California, 
as was later learned, he undertook to rob and 
kill a man at an outlying ranch, who had taken 
him in and befriended him when he was in need 



132 The Story of 

and in flight from vengeance. He showed no 
understanding of the feeling of gratitude, no 
matter what was done for him or how great was 
his own extremity. 

In Oregon Helm went back to robbery as 
his customary means of support, and he killed 
several men at this time of his life, how many 
will never be known. In 1862, as the moun- 
tain placers were now beginning to draw the 
crowds of mining men, it was natural that 
Boone Helm should show up at Florence. 
Here he killed a man in cold blood, in treach- 
ery, while his enemy was not armed, and after 
their quarrel had been compromised. This vic- 
tim was Dutch Fred, a man of reputation as a 
fighter, but he had never offended Helm, who 
killed him at the instigation of an enemy of his 
victim, and possibly for hire. He shot Fred 
while the latter stood looking him in the face, 
unarmed, and, missing him with the first shot, 
took deliberate aim with the second and mur- 
dered his man in cold blood. 

This was pretty bad even for Florence, and 
he had to leave. That fall he turned up far 
to the north, on the Fraser river, in British 
Columbia. Here he was once more reduced 
to danger on a starving foot march in the wil- 



The Outlaw 



133 



derness, and here, once more, he was guilty of 
eating the body of his companion, whom he Is 
supposed to have slain. He was sent back by 
the British authorities, and for a time was held 
at Portland, Oregon, for safe keeping. Later 
he was tried at Florence for killing Dutch Fred, 
but the witnesses had disappeared, and people 
had long ago lost Interest In the crime by rea- 
son of others more recent. Helm escaped jus- 
tice and was supposed to have gone to Texas; 
but he soon appeared In the several settlements 
which have been mentioned In the foregoing 
pages, and moved from one to the other. He 
killed many more men, how many In all was 
never known. 

The courage and hardihood of Boone Helm 
were In evidence to the close of his life. Three 
men of the Vigilantes did the dangerous work 
of arresting him, and took him by closing In 
on him as he stood In the street talking. "If 
I'd had a chance," said he, "or If I had guessed 
what you all were up to, you'd never have 
taken me." He claimed not to know what was 
wanted of him when brought before the judges 
of the Vigilante court, and solemnly declared 
that he had never killed a man In all his life! 
They made him kiss the Bible and swear to this 



134 ^'^^ Story of 

over again just to see to what lengths his per- 
jured and depraved soul would go. He swore 
on the Bible with perfect calmness! His cap- 
tors were not moved by this, and indeed Helm 
was little expectant that they would be. He 
called aside one of them whom he knew, de- 
clined a clergyman, and confessed to a murder 
or so in Missouri and in California, admitted 
that he had been imprisoned once or twice, but 
denied that he had been a road agent. He ac- 
cused some of his warmest friends of the latter 
crime. Jack Gallegher, also under arrest, heard 
him thus incriminate himself and others of the 
gang and called him all the names in the calen- 
dar, telling him he ought to die. 

"I have looked at death in all forms,'* said 
Helm, coolly, "and I am not afraid to die." 
He then asked for a glass of whiskey, as did a 
good many of these murderers when they were 
brought to the gallows. From that time on he 
was cool and unconcerned, and showed a finish 
worthy of one ambitious to be thought wholly 
bad. 

There were six thousand men assembled in 
Virginia City to see the executions of these 
criminals, who were fast being rounded up and 
hung by the citizens. The place of execution 



The Outlaw 135 

was In a half-finished log building. The ropes 
were passed over the ridge-pole, and, as the 
front of the building was open, a full view was 
offered of the murderers as they stood on the 
boxes arranged for the drops. Boone Helm 
looked around at his friends placed for death, 
and told Jack Gallegher to "stop making such 
a fuss." "There's no use being afraid to die," 
said he; and indeed there probably never lived a 
man more actually devoid of all sense of fear. 
He valued neither the life of others nor his own. 
He saw that the end had come, and was care- 
less about the rest. He had a sore finger, 
which was tied up, and this seemed to trouble 
him more than anything else. There was some 
delay about the confessions and the last offices 
of those who prayed for the condemned, and 
this seemed to irritate Boone Helm. 

"For God's sake," said he, "if you're going 
to hang me, I want you to do it and get through 
with it. If not, I want you to tie up my finger 
for me." 

"Give me that overcoat of yours. Jack," he 
said to Gallegher, as the latter was stripped for 
the noose. 

"You won't need It now," replied Gallegher, 
who was dying blasphemous. About then. 



136 The Story of 

George Lane, one of the line of men about to 
be hung, jumped off his box on his own ac- 
count. "There's one gone to hell," remarked 
Boone Helm, philosophically. Gallegher was 
hanged next, and as he struggled his former 
friend watched him calmly. *'Kick away, old 
fellow," said Boone Helm. Then, as though 
suddenly resolved to end it, he commented, 
"My turn next. I'll be in hell with you in a 
minute I'* 

Boone Helm was a Confederate and a bitter 
one, and this seems to have remained with him 
to the last. "Every man for his principles!" 
he shouted. "Hurrah for Jeff Davis I Let her 
rip!" He sprang off the box; and so he fin- 
ished, utterly hard and reckless to the last. 



The Outlaw 137 



Chapter IX 

Death Scenes of Desperadoes — How Bad Men 
Died — The hast Moments of Desperadoes 
Who Finished on the Scaffold — Utterances of 
Terror, of Defiance, and of Cowardice, : : 

THERE Is always a grim sort of curios- 
ity regarding the way In which noto- 
riously desperate men meet their end; 
and perhaps this Is as natural as Is the curiosity 
regarding the manner In which they llved- 
"Dld he die game?" Is one of the questions 
asked by bad men among themselves. "Did 
he die with his boots on?" Is another. The last 
was the test of actual or, as It were, of profes- 
sional badness. One who admitted himself bad 
was willing to die with his boots on. Honest 
men were not, and more than one early West- 
ern man fatally shot had his friends take off 
his boots before he died, so that he might not 
go with the stain of desperadoism attached to 
his name. 



138 The Story of 

Some bad men died unrepentant and defiant. 
Others broke down and wept and begged. A 
great oblivion enshrouds most of these utter- 
ances, for few Vigilante movements ever reached 
importance enough to permit those who par- 
ticipated to make publicly known their own 
participation in them. Indeed, no man ever 
concerned in a law and order execution ever 
liked to talk about it. Tradition, however, has 
preserved the exact utterances of many bad 
men. Report is preserved, in a general way, 
of many of the rustlers hung by the cattle men 
in the ''regulator" movement in Montana, 
Wyoming, and Nebraska in the late '70's. 
"Give me a chew of tobacco, folks," said one. 
"Meet you in hell, fellows," remarked others 
of these rustlers when the last moment arrived. 
"So-long, boys," was a not infrequent remark 
as the noose tightened. Many of these men 
were brave, and some of them were hung for 
what they considered no crime. 

Henry Plummer, whose fate has been de- 
scribed in a previous chapter, was one of those 
who died in a sense of guilt and terror. His 
was a nature of some sensitiveness, not callous 
like that of Boone Helm. Plummer begged 
for life on any terms, asked the Vigilantes to 



The Outlaw 139 

cut off his ears and hands and tongue, anything 
to mark him and leave him helpless, but to leave 
him alive. He protested that he was too 
wicked to die, fell on his knees, cried aloud, 
promised, besought. On the whole, his end 
hardly left him enshrouded with much glamor 
of courage; although the latter term Is relative 
In the bad man, who might be brave at one 
time and cowardly at another, as was often 
proved. 

Ned Ray and Buck Stinson died full of pro- 
fanity and curses, heaping upon their execu- 
tioners all manner of abuse. They seemed to be 
animated by no understanding of a life here- 
after, and were concerned only In their animal 
Instinct to hold on to this one as long as they 
might. Yet Stinson, of a good Indiana family, 
was a bright and studious and well-read boy, 
of whom many good things had been predicted. 

Dutch John, when faced with death, acted 
much as his chief, Henry Plummer, had done. 
He begged and pleaded, and asked for mutila- 
tion, disfigurement, anything, If only he might 
still live. But, like Plummer, at the very last 
moment he pulled together and died calmly. 
"How long will It take me to die?" he asked. 
"I have never seen anyone hanged." They told 



140 The Story of 

him It would be very short and that he would 
not suffer much, and this seemed to please him. 
Nearly all these desperadoes seemed to dread 
death by hanging. The Territory of Utah 
allowed a felon convicted under death penalty 
to choose the manner of his death, whether by 
hanging, beheading, or shooting; but no record 
remains of any prisoner who did not choose 
death by shooting. A curiosity as to the sensa- 
tion of hanging was evinced In the words of 
several who were hung by Vigilantes. 

In the largest hanging made In this Mon- 
tana work, there were live men executed one 
after the other: Clubfoot George, Hayes 
Lyons, Jack Gallegher, Boone Helm, and 
Frank Parish, all known to be members of the 
Plummer gang. George and Parish at first 
declared that they were Innocent — the first word 
of most of these men when they were appre- 
hended. Parish died silent. George had spent 
some hours with a clergyman, and was appar- 
ently repentant. Just as he reached the box, 
he saw a friend peering through a crack In the 
wall. *'Good-by, old fellow," he called out, 
and sprang to his own death without waiting 
for the box to be pulled from under his feet. 

Hayes Lyons asked to see his mistress to say 



The Outlaw 141 

good-by to her before he died, but was refused. 
He kept on pleading for his life to the very last 
instant, after he had told the men to take his 
body to his mistress for burial. This woman 
was really the cause of Lyons' undoing. He 
had been warned, and would have left the coun- 
try but for her. A woman was very often the 
cause of a desperado's apprehension. 

Jack Gallegher In his last moments was, if 
possible, more repulsive even than Boone Helm. 
The latter was brave, but Gallegher was a cow- 
ard, and spent his time In cursing his captors 
and pitying himself. He tried to be merry. 
"How do I look with a halter around my 
neck?" he asked facetiously of a bystander. 
He asked often for whiskey and this was given 
him. A moment later he said, "I want one 
more drink of whiskey before I die." This 
was when the noose was tight around his neck, 
and the men were disgusted with him for the 
remark. One remarked, "Give him the whis- 
key"; so the rope, which was passed over the 
beam above him and fastened to a side log of 
the building, was loosened to oblige him. 
"Slack off the rope, can't you," cried Gallegher, 
"and let a man have a parting drink." He 
bent his head down against the rope and drank 



142 The Story of 

a tumblerful of whiskey at a gulp. Then he 
called down curses on the men who were about 
him, and kept it up until they cut him short by 
jerking away the box from under his feet. 

A peculiar instance of unconscious, but grim, 
humor was afforded at Gallegher's execution. 
Just as he was led to the box and ordered to 
climb up, he drew a pocketknife and declared 
he would kill himself and not be hanged in pub- 
lic. A Vigilante covered him with a six-shooter. 
"Drop that. Jack," he exclaimed, "or I'll blow 
your head off." So Gallegher, having the 
choice of death between shooting, hanging or 
beheading, chose hanging after all ! He was 
a coward. 

Cy Skinner, when on the way to the scaffold, 
broke and ran, calling on his captors to shoot. 
They declined, and hanged him. Alex Carter, 
who was on the fatal line with Skinner in that 
lot, was disgusted with him for running. He 
asked for a smoke while the men were waiting, *^ 
and died with a lie on his lips — "I am Inno- 
cent." That Is not an Infrequent declaration 
of criminals at the last. The lie Is only a blind 
clinging to the last possible means of escape, 
and is the same as the instinct for self-preserva- 
tion, a crime swallowed up in guilt. 



The Outlaw 143 

Johnny Cooper wanted a "good smoke" be- 
fore he died, and was given it. Bob Zachary 
died without fear, and praying forgiveness on 
his executioners. Steve Marshland asked to 
be pardoned because of his youth. "You should 
have thought of that before," was the grim 
reply. He was adjudged old enough to die, as 
he had been old enough to kill. 

George Shears was one of the gamest of the 
lot. He seemed indifferent about it all after 
his capture, and, when he was told that he was 
to be hanged, he remarked that he ought to be 
glad it w^as no worse. He was executed in the 
barn at a ranch where he was caught, and, con- 
veniences being few, a ladder was used instead of 
a box or other drop. He was told to ascend the 
latter, and did so without the least hesitation 
or evidence of concern. "Gentlemen," said he, 
"I am not used to this business, never having 
been hung before. Shall I jump off or slide 
off?" They told him to "jump, of course," and 
he took this advice. "All right. Good-by!" he 
said, and sprang off with unconcern. 

Whiskey Bill was not given much chance for 
last words. He was hung from horseback, the 
noose being dropped down from a tree to his 
neck as he sat on a horse behind one of the 



144 '^^^ Story of 

Vigilantes. "Good-by, Bill," was the remark 
of the latter, as he spurred his horse and left 
Bill hanging. 

One of the most singular phenomena of these 
executions was that of Bill Hunter, who, while 
hanging by the neck, went through all the 
motions of drawing and firing his six-shooter 
six times. Whether the action was conscious 
or unconscious it is impossible to tell. 

Bill Bunton resisted arrest and was pugna- 
cious, of course declaring his innocence. At the 
last he showed great gameness. He was par- 
ticular about the manner in which the knot of 
the rope was adjusted to his neck, seeming, as 
did many of these men, to dread any suffering 
while hanging. He asked if he might jump off 
the platform himself, and was told he might if 
he liked. "I care no more for hanging," he ex- 
plained, "than I do for taking a drink of water, 
but Fd like to have my neck broken. I'd like 
to have a mountain three hundred feet high 
to jump off from. Now, Fll give you the time : 
One — two — three. Here goes!" 



The Outlaw 145 



Chapter X 

Joseph A. Slade — A Man with a Newspaper 
Reputation — Bad, but Not as Bad as Painted 
— Hero of the Overland Express Route — A 
Product of Courage Plus Whiskey, and the 
End of the Product, :::::: 

ONE of the best-known desperadoes the 
West ever produced was Joseph A. 
Slade, agent of the Overland stage 
line on the central or mountain division, about 
i860, and hence in charge of large responsi- 
bilities in a strip of country more than six hun- 
dred miles in extent, which possessed all the 
ingredients for trouble in plenty. Slade lived, 
in the heyday of his career, just about the time 
when men from the East were beginning to 
write about the newly discovered life of the 
West. Bret Harte had left his indelible stamp 
upon the literature of the land, and Mark 
Twain was soon to spread widely his impres- 
sions of life as seen in "Roughing It'*; while 



146 The Story of 

countless newspaper men and book writers 
were edging out and getting hearsay stories of 
things known at first hand by a very few careful 
and conscientious writers. 

The hearsay man engaged in discovering the 
West always clung to the regular lines of travel; 
and almost every one who passed across the 
mountains on the Overland stage line would 
hear stories about the desperate character of 
Slade. These stories grew by newspaper multi- 
plication, until at length the man was owner of 
the reputation of a fiend, a ghoul, and a mur- 
derer. There was a wide difference between 
this and the truth. As a matter of fact, there 
were many worse desperadoes on the border. 

Slade was born at Carlisle, Illinois, and served 
in the Mexican War in 1848. He appears to 
have gone into the Overland service in 1859. 
At once he plunged into the business of the 
stage line, and soon became a terror to the 
thieves and outlaws, several of whom he was 
the means of having shot or hung, although he 
himself was nothing of a man-hunter at the 
time; and indeed, in all his life he killed but 
one man — a case of a reputation beyond desert, 
and an instance of a reputation fostered by ad- 
miring but ignorant writers. 



The Outlaw 147 

Slade was reported to have tied one of his 
enemies, Jules Reni, more commonly called 
Jules, to the stake, and to have tortured him 
for a day, shooting him to pieces bit by bit, and 
cutting off his ears, one of which he always 
afterward wore in his pocket as a souvenir. 
There was little foundation for this reputation 
beyond the fact that he did kill Jules, and did 
it after Jules had been captured and disarmed 
by other men. But he had been threatened 
time and again by Jules, and was once shot and 
left for dead by the latter, who emptied a pistol 
and a shotgun at Slade, and left him lying with 
thirteen bullets and buckshot in his body. Jules 
thought he did not need to shoot Slade any 
more after that, and gave directions for his 
burial as soon as he should have died. At that 
Slade rose on his elbow and promised Jules he 
would live and would wear one of his, Jules', 
ears on his watch chain; a threat which no 
doubt gave rise to a certain part of his ghastly 
reputation. Jules was hung for a while by the 
stage people, but was let down and released on 
promise of leaving the country never to return. 
He did not keep his promise, and It had been 
better for him If he had. 

Jules Reni was a big Frenchman, one of that 



148 The Story of 

sort of early ranchers who were owners of 
small ranches and a limited number of cattle 
and horses — just enough to act as a shield for 
thefts of live stock, and to offer encouragement 
to such thefts. Before long Jules was back at 
his old stamping-grounds, where he was looked 
on as something of a bully; and at once he re- 
newed his threats against Slade. 

Slade went to the officers of the military post 
at Laramie, the only kind of authority then in 
the land, which had no sort of courts or officers, 
and asked them what he should do. They told 
him to have Jules captured and then to kill him, 
else Jules would do the same for him. Slade 
sent four men out to the ranch where Jules was 
stopping, about twelve miles from Laramie, 
while he followed in the stage-coach. These 
men captured Jules at a ranch a little farther 
down the line, and left him prisoner at the stage 
station. Here Slade found him In the corral, a 
prisoner, unarmed and at his mercy, and with- 
out hesitation he shot him, the ball striking him 
in the mouth. His victim fell and feigned 
death, but Slade — who was always described as 
a good pistol shot — saw that he was not killed, 
and told him he should have time to make his 
will if he desired. There is color In the charge 



The Outlaw 



149 



of deliberate cruelty, but perhaps rude warrant 
for the cruelty, under the circumstances of 
treachery In which Jules had pursued Slade. At 
least, some time elapsed while a man was run- 
ning back and forward from the house to the 
corral with pen and Ink and paper. Jules never 
signed his will. When the last penful of Ink 
came out to the corral, Jules was dead, shot 
through the head by Slade. This looks like 
cruelty of an unnecessary sort, and like taunt- 
ing a helpless victim; but here the warrant for 
all the Slade sort of stories seems to end, and 
there Is no evidence of his mutilating his vic- 
tim, as was often described. 

Slade went back to the officers of Fort Lara- 
mie, and they said he had done right and did 
not detain him. Nor did any of Jules' friends 
ever molest him. He returned to his work on 
the Overland. After this he grew more turbu- 
lent, and was guilty of high-handed outrages 
and of a general disposition to run things 
wherever he went. The officers at Fort Hal- 
leck arrested him and refused to turn him over 
to the stage line unless the latter agreed to 
discharge him. This was done, and now Slade, 
out of work, began to be bad at heart. He 
took to drink and drifting, and so at last turned 



150 The Story of 

up at the Beaverhead diggings in 1863, not 
much different from many others of the bad 
folk to be found there. 

Quiet enough when sober, Slade was a 
maniac in drink, and this latter became his 
habitual condition. Now and again he sobered 
up, and he always was a business man and ani- 
mated by an ambition to get on in the world. 
He worked here and there in different capaci- 
ties, and at last settled on a ranch a dozen miles 
or so from Virginia City, where he lived with 
his wife, a robust, fine-looking woman of great 
courage and very considerable beauty, of whom 
he was passionately fond; although she lived 
almost alone in the remote cabin in the moun- 
tains, while Slade pursued his avocations, such as 
they were, in the settlements along Alder Gulch. 

Slade now began to grow ugly and hard, and 
to exult in terrorizing the hard men of those 
hard towns. He would strike a man in the face 
while drinking with him, would rob his friends 
while playing cards, would ride into the saloons 
and break up the furniture, and destroy prop- 
erty with seeming exultation at his own malic- 
iousness. He was often arrested, warned, and 
fined; and sometimes he defied such officers as 
went after him and refused to be arrested. His 



The Outlaw 151 



whole conduct made him a menace to the peace 
of this httle community, which was now en- 
deavoring to become more decent, and he fell 
under the fatal scrutiny of the Vigilantes, who 
concluded that the best thing to do was to hang 
Slade. He had never killed anyone as yet, 
although he had abused many; but it was sure 
that he would kill some one if allowed to run 
on; and, moreover, it was humiliating to have 
one man trying to run the town and doing as 
he pleased. Slade was to learn what society 
means, and what the social compact means, as 
did many of these wild men who had been run- 
ning as savages outside of and independent of 
the law. Slade got wind of the deliberations of 
the Committee, as well he might when six hun- 
dred men came down from Nevada Camp to 
Virginia City to help in the court of the miners, 
before which Slade was now to come. It was 
the Nevada Vigilantes who were most strongly 
of the belief that death and not banishment was 
the proper punishment for Slade. The leader 
of the marching men calmly told Slade that the 
Committee had decided to hang him; and, once 
the news was sure, Slade broke out into lamen- 
tations. 

This was often the case with men who had 



152 * The Story of* 

been bullies and terrors. They weakened when 
In the hands of a stronger power. Slade crept 
about on his hands and knees, begging like a 
baby. "My God! My God!" he cried. 
"Must I die? Oh, my poor wife, my poor 
wife! My God, men, you can't mean that 
Tm to die!" 

They did mean it, and neither his importuni- 
ties nor those of his friends had avail. His 
life had been too rough and violent and was 
too full of menace to others. He had had his 
fair frontier chance and had misused it. Some 
wept at his prayers, but none relented. In 
broad daylight, the procession moved down the 
street, and soon Slade was swinging from the 
beam of a corral gate, one more example of 
the truth that when man belongs to society he 
owes duty to society and else must suffer at its 
hands. This was the law. 

Slade's wife was sent for and reached town 
soon after Slade's body was cut down and laid 
out. She loaded the Vigilantes with impreca- 
tions, and showed the most heartbroken grief. 
The two had been very deeply attached. She 
was especially regretful that Slade had been 
hanged and not shot. He was worth a better 
death than that, she protested. 



The Outlaw 



153 



Slade^s body was preserved in alcohol and 
kept out at the lone ranch cabin all that winter. 
In the spring it was sent down to Salt Lake City 
and buried there. As that was a prominent 
point on the overland trail, the tourists did the 
rest. The saga of Slade as a bad man was 
widely disseminated. 



154 The Story of 



Chapter XI 

The Desperado of the Plains — Lawlessness 
Founded on Loose Methods — The Rustlers of 
the Cow Country — Excuses for Their Acts — 
The Approach of the Commercial West. : : 

ONE pronounced feature of early West- 
ern life will have been remarked In the 
story of the mountain settlements with 
which we have been concerned, and that is the 
transient and migratory character of the popu- 
lation. It is astonishing what distances were 
traveled by the bold men who followed the 
mining stampedes all over the wilderness of 
the upper Rockies, in spite of the unspeakable 
hardships of a region where travel at its best 
was rude, and travel at its worst well-nigh an 
Impossibility. The West was first peopled by 
wanderers, nomads, even in its mountain re- 
gions, which usually attach their population to 



The Outlaw 155 

themselves and cut oil the disposition to roam. 
This nomad nature of the adventurers made 
law almost an impossible thing. A town was 
organized and then abandoned, on the spur of 
necessity or rumor. Property was unstable, 
taxes impossible, and any corps of executive 
officers difficult of maintenance. Before there 
can be law there must be an attached population. 

The lawlessness of the real West was there- 
fore much a matter of conditions after all, 
rather than of morals. It proved above all 
things that human nature is very much akin, 
and that good men may go wrong when suffi- 
ciently tempted by great wealth left unguarded. 
The first and second decades after the close 
of the civil war found the great placers of the 
Rockies and Sierras exhausted, and quartz 
mines taking their place. The same period, as 
has been shown, marked the advent of the great 
cattle herds from the South upon the upper 
ranges of the territories beyond the Missouri 
river. By this time, the plains began to call 
to the adventurers as the mines recently had 
called. 

Here, then, was wealth, loose, unattached, 
apparently almost unowned, nomad wealth, 
and waiting for a nomad population to share 



156 The Story of 

It In one way or another. Once more, the home 
was lacking, the permanent abode; wherefore, 
once more the law was also lacking, and man 
ruled himself after the ancient savage ways. 
By this time frontiersmen were well armed 
with repeating weapons, which now used fixed 
ammunition. There appeared on the plains 
more and better armed men than were ever 
known, unorganized, In any land at any period 
of the earth's history; and the plains took up 
what the mountains had begun In wild and 
desperate deeds. 

The only property on the arid plains at that 
time was that of live stock. Agriculture had 
not come, and It was supposed could never 
come. The vast herds of cattle from the lower 
ranges, Texas and Mexico, pushed north to 
meet the railroads, now springing westward 
across the plains; but a large proportion of 
these cattle were used as breeding stock to fur- 
nish the upper cow range with horned popula- 
tion. Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, western 
Nebraska, the Dakotas, discovered that they 
could raise range cattle as well as the southern 
ranges, and fatten them far better; so presently 
thousands upon thousands of cattle were turned 
loose, without a fence In those thousands of 



The Outlaw 157 

miles, to exist as best they might, and guarded 
as best might be by a class of men as nomadic 
as their herds. These cattle were cheap at that 
time, and they made a general source of food 
supply much appreciated in a land but just de- 
populated of its buffalo. For a long time it was 
but a venial crime to kill a cow and eat it if 
one were hungry. A man's horse was sacred, 
but his cow was not, because there were so many 
cows, and they were shifting and changing 
about so much at best. 

The ownership of these herds was widely 
scattered and difficult to trace. A man might 
live in Texas and have herds in Montana, and 
vice versa. His property right was known only 
by the brand upon the animal, his being but the 
tenure of a sign. 

"The respect for this sign was the whole 
creed of the cattle trade. Without a fence, 
without an atom of actual control, the cattle 
man held his property absolutely. It mingled 
with the property of others, but It was never 
confused therewith. It wandered a hundred 
miles from him, and he knew not where it was, 
but It was surely his and sure to find him. To 
touch It was crime. To appropriate it meant 
punishment. Common necessity made common 



158 The Story of 

custom, common custom made common law, 
and common law made statutory law."* 

The old jierro or iron mark of the Spanish 
cattle owner, and his venta or sale-brand to an- 
other had become common law all over the 
Southwest when the Anglo-Saxon first struck 
that region. The Saxon accepted these customs 
as wise and rational, and soon they were the 
American law all over the American plains. 

The great bands of cattle ran almost free in 
the Southwest for many years, each carrying 
the brand of the owner, if the latter had ever 
seen It or cared to brand It. Many cattle 
roamed free without any brand whatever, and 
no one could tell w^ho owned them. When the 
northern ranges opened, this question of un- 
branded cattle still remained, and the *'maver- 
Ick" industry was still held matter of sanc- 
tion, there seeming to be enough for all, and 
the day being one of glorious freedom and 
plenty, the baronial day of the great and once 
unexhausted West. 

Now the venta, or brand Indicating the sale 
of an animal to another owner, began to com- 
plicate matters to a certain extent. A pur- 

**'The Story of the Cowboy," by E. Hough. D. Applcton & Co. 
New York. 



The Outlaw 



159 



chaser could put his own perro brand on a cow, 
and that meant that he now owned it. But 
then some suspicious soul asked, "How shall 
we know whence such and such cows came, and 
how tell whether or not this man did not steal 
them outright from his neighbor's herd and 
put his own brand on them?" Here was the 
origin of the bill of sale, and also of the coun- 
ter brand or "vent brand," as it is known upon 
the upper ranges. The owner duplicated his 
recorded brand upon another recorded part of 
the animal, and this meant his deed of con- 
veyance, when taken together with the bill of 
sale over his commercial signature. Of course, 
several conveyances would leave the hide much 
scarred and hard to read; and, as there were 
"road brands" also used to protect the prop- 
erty while in transit from the South to the 
North or from the range to the market, the 
reading of the brands and the determination 
of ownership of the animal might be, and very 
often was, a nice matter, and one not always 
settled without argument; and argument in 
the West often meant bloodshed in those days. 
Some hard men started up in trade near the 
old cattle trails, and made a business of dis- 
puting brands with the trail drivers. Some- 



i6o The Story of 

times they made good their claims, and some- 
times they did not. There were graves almost 
in line from Texas to Montana. 
/ It Is now perfectly easy to see what a wide 
/and fertile field was here offered to men who 
' did not want to observe the law. Here was 
property to be had without work, and property 
whose title could easily be called Into question; 
whose ownership was a matter of testimony and 
record, to be sure, but testimony which could 
be erased or altered by the same means which 
once constituted It a record and sign. The 
brand was made with an iron, and it could be 
changed with an iron. A large and profitable 
Industry arose In changing these brands. The 
rustler, brand-burner or brand-blotcher now be- 
came one of the new Western characters, and a 
new sort of bad-manism had Its birth. 

"It is very easy to see how temptation was 
offered to the cow thief and 'brand blotter.' 
Here were all these wild cattle running loose 
over the country. The Imprint of a hot Iron 
on a hide made the creature the property of 
the brander, provided no one else had branded 
It before. The time of priority was matter of 
proof. With the handy ''running-iron'' or 
straight rod, which was always attached to his 



The Outlaw 1 6 1 

saddle when he rode out, could not the cow 
thief erase a former brand and put over it one 
of his own ? Could he not, for Instance, change 
a U Into an O, or a V Into a diamond, or a 
half-circle into a circle? Could he not, more- 
over, kill and skin an animal and sell the beef 
as his own? Between him and the owner was ' 
only this little mark. Between him and chang- 
ing this mark was nothing but his moral prin- 
ciples. The range was very wide. Hardly a 
figure would show on that unwinking horizon 
all day long. And what was a heifer here and 
there?" 

Such was the temptation and opportunity 
which led many a man to step over the line 
between right and wrong. Their excuse lies in 
the fact that the line was newly drawn and that 
It was often vague and Inexact. It was easy, \ 
from killing or rebranding an occasional cow, 
to see the profits of larger operation. The 
faithful cowboys who cared for these herds and 
protected them even with their lives in the 
interest of absent owners began in time to tire 
of working on a salary, and settled down into 
little ranches of their own, starting with a herd 
of cattle lawfully purchased and branded. An 
occasional maverick came across their range 



1 62 The Story of 

and they branded It. A brand was faint and 
not legible, and they put their own Iron over 
It. They learned that pyrography with a hot 
poker was very profitable. The rest was easy. 
The first step was the one that counted; but 
who could tell where that first step was taken? 

At any rate, cattle owners began to take no- 
tice of their cows as the prices went up, and 
they had laws made to protect property rapidly 
enhancing In value. Cow owners were re- 
quired to have fixed or stencil-Irons, and were 
forbidden to trace a pattern with a straight 
iron or "running-iron." Each ranch must have 
Its own Iron or stencil. Texas as early as the 
'6o's and '70's passed laws forbidding the use 
of the running-Iron altogether, so that after 
that It was not safe to be caught riding the 
range with a straight Iron under the saddle 
flap. Any man so discovered had to do some 
quick explaining. 

The next step after this was the organization 
of the cattle associations in the several terri- 
tories and states which made the home of the 
cattle trade. These associations banded to- 
gether in a national association. Detectives 
were placed at the stockyards In Chicago and 
Kansas City, charged with the finding of cattle 



The Outlaw 163 

stolen on the range and shipped with or with- 
out clean brands. In short, there had now 
grown up an armed and legal warfare between 
the cow men themselves — in the first place very 
large-handed thieves — and the rustlers and 
^'little fellows" who were accused of being too 
liberal with their brand blotching. The prose- 
cution of these men was undertaken with some- 
thing of the old vigor that characterized the 
pursuit of horse thieves, with this difference, 
that, whereas all the world had hated a horse 
thief as a common enemy, very much of the 
world found excuse for the so-called rustler, 
who was known to be doing only what his ac- 
cusers had done before him. 

There may be a certain interest attaching to 
the methods of the range riders of this day, 
and those who care to go into the history of 
the cattle trade in its early days are referred 
to the work earlier quoted, where the matter 
is more fully covered.* Brief reference will 
suffice here. 

The rustler might brand with his own 
straight running-iron, as it were, writing over 
again the brand he wished to change; but 
this was clumsy and apt to be detected, for 

* *' The Story of the Cowboy." By E. Hough. D. Applcton & Co 



164 The Story of 

the new wound would slough and look sus- 
picious. A piece of red-hot hay wire or tele- 
graph wire was a better tool, for this could be 
twisted into the shape of almost any registered 
brand, and it would so cunningly connect the 
edges of both that the whole mark would seem 
to be one scar of the same date. The fresh 
burn fitted in with the older one so that it was 
impossible to swear that it was not a part of 
the first brand mark. Yet another way of soft- 
ening a fresh and fraudulent brand was to 
brand through a wet blanket with a heavy iron, 
which thus left a wound deep enough, but not 
apt to slough, and so betray a brand done 
long after the round-up, and hence subject to 
scrutiny. 

As to the ways in which brands were altered 
in their lines, these were many and most in- 
genious. A sample page will be sufficient to 
show the possibilities of the art by which the 
rustler set over to his own herds on the free 
range the cows of his far-away neighbor, 
whom, perhaps, he did not love as himself. 
The list on the opposite page is taken from "The 
Story of the Cowboy.'^ 

Such, then, was the burglar of the range, the 
rustler, to whom most of the mysterious and 



HOW THE RUSTLER WORKED 



4- 



5' 



\0 lOI lOI 10L f\OB 
- X O-O OHO 
3 JU JD -g- 

V V V 9 ii ii ¥ 

999 899 lo H 8 
6 -T BD II . CH (hfi 

7 70 70S - CO CO- 

8 AU A\F 13 21 2b 



The above plate illustrates the manner in which cow-brands were changed. The 
original brand appears in each case to the left, and the various alterations follow. 
It will be noted that with every change there is something added— the rule always 
adopted by the swindler 



J 



The Outlaw i 6 5 

untraceable crimes were ascribed. Such also 
were the excuses to be offered for some of the 
men who did what to them did not seem wrong 
acts. The sudden hostility of the newly-come 
cow men embittered and inflamed them, and 
from this it was easy and natural to the arbitra- 
ment of arms. 

The bad man of the plains dates to this era, 
and his acts may be attributed to these causes. 
There were to be found among these men many 
refugees and outlaws, as well as many better 
men gone wrong through point of view. Fierce 
and far were the battles between the rustlers 
and the cow barons. Commerce had its way 
at last. The lawless man had to go, and he 
had to go even before the law had come. 

The Vigilantes of the cattle range, organiz- 
ing first in Montana and working southward, 
made a clean sweep in their work. In one cam- 
paign they killed somewhere between sixty and 
eighty men accused of cattle rustling. They 
hung thirteen men on one railroad bridge one 
morning in northwestern Nebraska. The state- 
ment is believed to be correct that, in the ten 
years from 1876 to 1886, they executed more 
men without process of law than have been 
executed under the law In all the United States 



1 66 The Story of 

since then. These lynchings also were against 
the law. In short, it may perhaps begin to 
appear to those who study into the history of 
our earlier civilization that the term *'law" is 
a very wide and lax and relative one, and one 
extremely difficult of exact application. 



The Outlaw 167 



Chapter XII 

Wild Bill HIckok— r/j^ Beau Ideal of the 
Western Bad Man; Chivalrk, Daring, Gener- 
ous, and Game — A Type of the Early Western 
Frontier Officer, ::::::::: 

y4 S has been shown in preceding chapters, 
ZJk the Western plains were passed over 
-^ -^ and left unsettled until the advent of 
the railroads, which began to cross the plains 
coincident with the arrival of the great cattle 
herds which came up from the South after a 
market. This market did not wait for the com- 
pletion of the railroads, but met the railroads 
more than half way; indeed, followed them 
quite across the plains. The frontier sheriff 
now came upon the Western stage as he had 
never done before. The bad man also sprang 
into sudden popular recognition, the more so 
because he was now accessible to view and 
within reach of the tourist and tenderfoot in- 



1 68 The Story of 

vestigator of the Western fauna. These were 
palmy days for the wild West. 

Unless It be a placer camp in the mountains, 
there is no harder collection of human beings 
to be found than that which gathers In tents 
and shanties at a temporary railway terminus 
of the frontier. Yet such were all the capitals 
of civilization In the earliest days. One town 
was like another. The history of Wichita and 
Newton and Fort Dodge was the history of 
Abilene and Ellsworth and Hays City and all 
the towns at the head of the advancing rails. 
The bad men and women of one moved on to 
the next, just as they did in the stampedes of 
placer days. 

To recount the history of one after another 
of these wild towns would be endless and per- 
haps wearisome. But this history has one pecu- 
liar feature not yet noted in our investigations. 
All these cow camps meant to be real towns 
some day. They meant to take the social 
compact. There came to each of these camps 
men bent upon making homes, and these men 
began to establish a law and order spirit and 
to set up a government. Indeed, the regular 
system of American government was there as 
soon as the railroad was there, and this law 



The Outlaw 169 

was strong on Its legislative and executive sides. 
The frontier sheriff or town marshal was there, 
the man for the place, as bold and hardy as the 
bold and hardy men he was to meet and subdue, 
as skilled with weapons, as willing to die; and 
upheld, moreover, with that sense of duty and 
of moral courage which Is granted even to the 
most courageous of men when he feels that he 
has the sentiment of the majority of good people 
at his back. 

To describe the life of one Western town 
marshal, himself the best and most picturesque 
of them all. Is to cover all this field sufficiently. 
There Is but one man who can thus be chosen, 
and that Is Wild Bill HIckok, better known for 
a generation as "Wild Bill," and properly ac- 
corded an honorable place In American history. 

The real name of Wild BUI was James But- 
ler HIckok, and he was born In May, 1837, In 
La Salle county, Illinois. This brought his 
youth Into the days of Western exploration and 
conquest, and the boy read of Carson and Fre- 
mont, then popular Idols, with the result that 
he proposed a life of adventure for himself. 
He was eighteen years of age when he first 
saw the West as a fighting man under Jim 
Lane, of Free Soil fame. In the guerrilla days 



I/O The Story of 

of Kansas before the civil war. He made his 
mark, and was elected a constable in that dan- 
gerous country before he was twenty years of 
age. He was then a tall, "gangling" youth, 
six feet one in height, with yellow hair and blue 
eyes. He later developed into as splendid look- 
ing a man as ever trod on leather, muscular> 
and agile as he was powerful and enduring. 
His features were clean-cut and expressive, his 
carriage erect and dignified, and no one ever 
looked less the conventional part of the bad 
man assigned in popular imagination. He was 
not a quarrelsome man, although a dangerous 
one, and his voice was low and even, showing 
a nervous system like that of Daniel Boone — 
''not agitated." It might have been supposed 
that he would be a natural master of weapons, 
and such was the case. The use of rifle and 
revolver was bom in him, and perhaps no man 
of the frontier ever surpassed him in quick and 
accurate use of the heavy six-shooter. The 
religion of the frontier was not to miss, and 
rarely ever did he shoot except he knew that 
he would not miss. The tale of his killings in 
single combat is the longest authentically as- 
signed to any man in American history. 

After many experiences with the pro-slavery 



The Outlaw 171 

folk from the border, Bill, or "Shanghai Bill," 
as he was then known — a nickname which 
clung for years — went stage driving for the 
Overland, and incidentally did some effective 
Indian fighting for his employers, finally, in 
the year 1861, settling down as station agent 
for the Overland at Rock Creek station, about 
fifty miles west of Topeka. He was really 
there as guard for the horse band, for all that 
region was full of horse thieves and cut- 
throats, and robberies and killings were com- 
mon enough. It was here that there occurred 
his greatest fight, the greatest fight of one man 
against odds at close range that is mentioned 
in any history of ^ny part of the world. There 
was never a battle like it known, nor is the 
West apt again to produce one matching it. 

The borderland of Kansas was at that time, 
as may be remembered, ground debated by the 
anti-slavery and pro-slavery factions, who still 
waged bitter war against one another, killing, 
burning, and pillaging without mercy. The 
civil war was then raging, and Confederates 
from Missouri were frequent visitors in east- 
ern Kansas under one pretext or another, of 
which horse lifting was the one most common, 
it being held legitimate to prey upon the enemy 



172 The Story of 

as opportunity offered. Two border outlaws 
by the name of the McCandlas boys led a gang 
of hard men In enterprises of this nature, and 
these intended to run off the stage company's 
horses when they found they could not seduce 
Bill to join their number. He told them to come 
and take the horses if they could; and on the 
afternoon of December 16, 1861, ten of them, 
led by the McCandlas brothers, rode up to his 
dugout to do so. Bill was alone, his stableman 
being away hunting. He retreated to the dark 
interior of his dugout and got ready his 
weapons, a rifle, two six-shooters, and a knife. 

The assailants proceeded to batter in the door 
with a log, and as it fell in, Jim McCandlas, 
who must have been a brave man to undertake 
so foolhardy a thing against a man already 
known as a killer, sprang in at the opening. 
He, of course, was killed at once. This ex- 
hausted the rifle, and Bill picked up the six- 
shooters from the table and in three quick shots 
killed three more of the gang as they rushed 
in at the door. Four men were dead in less 
than that many seconds; but there were still 
six others left, all inside the dugout now, and 
all firing at him at a range of three feet. It 
was almost a miracle that, under such sur- 




From a painting by John W. Norton 

WILD BILL HICKOK's DESPERATE FIGHT IN THE 
DUG-OUT ONE MAN AGAINST TEN 



The Outlaw 173 

roundlngs, the man was not killed. Bill now 
was crowded too much to use his firearms, and 
took to the bowie, thrusting at one man and 
another as best he might. It Is known among 
knife-fighters that a man will stand up under 
a lot of flesh-cutting and blood-letting until the 
blade strikes a bone. Then he seems to drop 
quickly if it be a deep and severe thrust. In 
this chance medley, the knife wounds inflicted 
on each other by Bill and his swarming foes 
did not at first drop their men; so that it must 
have been several minutes that all seven of 
them were mixed in a mass of shooting, thrust- 
ing, panting, and gasping humanity. Then 
Jack McCandlas swung his rifle barrel and 
struck Bill over the head, springing upon him 
with his knife as well. Bill got his hand on 
a six-shooter and killed him just as he would 
have struck. After that no one knows what 
happened, not even Bill himself, who got his 
name then and there. "I just got sort of wild,'* 
he said, describing it. "I thought my heart was 
on fire. I went out to the pump then to get 
a drink, and I was all cut and shot to pieces." 
They called him Wild Bill after that, and 
he had earned the name. There were six dead 
men on the floor of the dugout. He had fairly 



174 T^h^ Story of 

whipped the ten of them, and the four remain- 
ing had enough and fled from that awful hole 
In the ground. Two of these were badly 
wounded. BUI followed them to the door. 
His own weapons were exhausted or not at 
hand by this time, but his stableman came up 
just then with a rifle In his hands. BUI caught 
It from him, and, cut up as he was, fired and 
killed one of the wounded desperadoes as he 
tried to mount his horse. The other wounded 
man later died of his wounds. Eight men were 
killed by the one. The two who got to their 
horses and escaped were perhaps never In the 
dugout at all, for It was hardly large enough 
to hold another man had any wanted to get in. 
There Is no record of any fighting man to 
equal this. It took BUI a year to recover from 
his wounds. The life of the open air and hard 
work brought many Western men through in- 
juries which would be fatal In the States. The 
pure air of the plains had much to do with 
this. BUI now took service as wagon-master 
under General Fremont and managed to get 
attacked by a force of Confederates while 
on his way to Sedalla, the war being now in 
full swing. He fled and was pursued; but, 
shooting back with six-shooters, killed four 



The Outlaw 175 

men. It will be seen that he had now in single 
fight killed twelve men, and he was very young. 
This tally did not cover Indians, of whom he 
had slain several. Although he did not enlist, 
he went into the army as an independent sharp- 
shooter, just because the fighting was good, and 
his work at this was very deadly. In four 
hours at the Pea Ridge battle, where he lay be- 
hind a log, on a hill commanding the flat where 
the Confederates were formed, he is said to 
have killed thirty-five men, one of them the 
Confederate General McCullough. It was like 
shooting buffalo for him. He was charged by 
a company of the enemy, but was rescued by his 
own men. 

Not yet enlisting. Bill went in as a spy for 
General Curtis, and took the dangerous work 
of going into "Pap" Price's lines, among the 
touch-and-go Missourians and i\rkansans, in 
search of information useful to the Union 
forces. Bill enlisted for business purposes in 
a company of Price's mounted rangers, got the 
knowledge desired, and fled, killing a Confeder- 
ate sergeant by name of Lawson in his escape. 
Curtis sent him back again, this time into the 
forces of Kirby Smith, then in Texas, but re- 
ported soon to move up into Arkansas. Bill 



176 The Story of 

enlisted again, and again showed his skill in 
the saddle, killing two men as he fled. Count 
up all his known victims to this time, and the 
tally would be at least sixty-two men; and Bill 
was then but twenty-five. 

A third time Curtis sent Bill back into the 
Confederate lines, this time into another part 
of Price's army. Here he was detected and ar- 
rested as a spy. Bound hand and foot in his 
death watch, he killed his captor after he had 
torn his hands free, and once more escaped. 
After that, he dared not go back again, for he 
was too well known and too difficult to disguise. 
He could not keep out of the fighting, however, 
and went as a scout and free lance with General 
Davis, during Price's second Invasion of Mis- 
souri. He was not an enlisted man, and seems 
to have done pretty much as he liked. One day 
he rode out on his own hook, and was stopped 
by three men, who ordered him to halt and dis- 
mount. All three men had their hands on their 
revolvers; but, to show the diflference between 
average men and a specialist, Bill killed two of 
them and fatally shot the other before they 
could get into action. His tally was now sixty- 
six men at least. 

Curtis now sent Bill out Into Kansas to look 



The Outlaw ijy 

into a report that some Indians were about to 
join the Confederate forces. Bill got the news, 
and also engaged In a knife duel with the Sioux, 
Conquering Bear, whom he accused of trying 
to ambush him. It was a fair and desperate 
fight, with knives, and although Bill finally 
killed his man, he himself was so badly cut up 
that he came near dying, his arm being ripped 
from shoulder to elbow, a wound which it took 
years to mend. It is doubtful if any man ever 
survived such Injuries as he did, for by this 
time he was a mass of scars from pistol and 
knife wounds. He had probably been In dan- 
ger of his life more than a hundred times In 
personal difficulties; for the man with a reputa- 
tion as a bad man has a reputation which needs 
continual defending. 

After the war. Bill lived from hand to mouth, 
like most frontier dwellers. It was at Spring- 
field, Missouri, that another duel of his long 
list occurred, In which he killed Dave Tutt, a 
fine pistol shot and a man with social ambitions 
in badness. It was a fair fight in the town 
square by appointment. Bill killed his man and 
wheeled so quickly on Tutt's followers that Tutt 
had not had time to fall before Bill's six- 
shooter was turned the opposite way, and he 



178 The Story of 

was asking Tutt's friends if they wanted any 
of it themselves. They did not. This fight 
was forced on Bill, and his quiet attempts to 
avoid it and his stern way of accepting it, when 
inevitable, won him high estimation on the bor- 
der. Indeed, he was now known all over the 
country, and his like has not since been seen. 
He was still a splendid looking man, and as 
cool and quiet and modest as ever he had been. 

Bill now went to trapping in the less settled 
parts of Nebraska, and for a while he lived in 
peace, until he fell into a saloon row over some 
trivial matter and invited four of his opponents 
outside to fight him with pistols ; the four were 
to fire at the word, and Bill to do the same — his 
pistol against their four. In this fight he killed 
one man at first fire, but he himself was shot 
through the shoulder and disabled in his right 
arm. He killed two more with his left hand 
and badly wounded the other. This was a fair 
fight also, and the only wonder is he was not 
killed; but he seemed never to consider odds, 
and literally he knew nothing but fight. 

His score was now seventy-two men, not 
counting Indians. He himself never reported 
how many Indians he and Buffalo Bill killed 
as scouts in the Black Kettle campaign under 



The Outlaw 1 79 

Carr and Primrose, but the killing of Black 
Kettle himself was sometimes attributed to 
Wild BUI. The latter was badly wounded In 
the thigh with a lance, and It took a long time 
for this wound to heal. To give this hurt and 
others better opportunity for mending, BUI now 
took a trip back East to his home In Illinois. 
While East he found that he had a reputation, 
and he undertook to use It. He found no way 
of making a living, however, and he returned 
to the West, where he could better market his 
qualifications. 

At that time Hays City, Kansas, was one of 
the hardest towns on the frontier. It had more 
than a hundred gambling dives and saloons to 
its two thousand population, and murder was an 
ordinary thing. Hays needed a town marshal, 
and one who could shoot. Wild Bill was 
unanimously selected, and in six weeks he was 
obliged to kill Jack Strawhan for trying to 
shoot him. This he did by reason of his supe- 
rior quickness with the six-shooter, for Strawhan 
was drawing first. Another bad man, Mulvey, 
started to run Hays, In whose peace and dignity 
Bill now felt a personal ownership. Covered 
by Mulvey's two revolvers. Bill found room for 
the lightning flash of time, which is all that is 



i8o The Story of 

needed by the real revolver genius, and killed 
Mulvey on the spot. His tally was now 
seventy-five men. He made it seventy-eight in 
a fight with a bunch of private soldiers, who 
called him a "long-hair" — a term very accurate, 
by the way, for Bill was proud of his long, 
blond hair, as was General Custer and many an- 
other man of the West at that time. In this 
fight. Bill was struck by seven pistol balls and 
barely escaped alive by flight to a ranch on the 
prairie near by. He lay there three weeks, while 
General Phil Sheridan had details out with 
orders to get him dead or alive. He later 
escaped in a box-car to another town, and his 
days as marshal of Hays were over. 

Bill now tried his hand at Wild West theatri- 
cals, seeing that already many Easterners were 
"daffy," as he called it, about the West; but he 
failed at this, and went back once more to the 
plains where he belonged. He was chosen mar- 
shal of Abilene, then the cow camp par excel- 
lence of the middle plains, and as tough a com- 
munity as Hays had been. 

The wild men from the lower plains, fight- 
ing men, mad from whiskey and contact with 
the settlements' possibilities of long-denied in- 
dulgence, swarmed in the streets and dives, 



The Outlaw i8i 



mingling with desperadoes and toughs from all 
parts of the frontier. Those who have never 
lived in such a community will never be able by 
any description to understand its phenomena. 
It seems almost unbelievable that sober, steady- 
going America ever knew such days; but. there 
they were, and not so long ago, for this was 
only 1870. 

Two days after Bill was elected marshal of 
Abilene, he killed a desperado who was 
"whooping-up" the town in customary fashion. 
That same night, he was on the street, in a dim 
light, when all at once he saw a man whisk 
around a corner, and saw something shine, as 
he thought, with the gleam of a weapon. As 
showing how quick were the hand and eye of 
the typical gun-man of the day, it may be stated 
that Bill killed this man in a flash, only to find 
later that it was a friend, and one of his own 
deputies. The man was only pulling a hand- 
kerchief from his pocket. Bill knew that he 
was w^atched every moment by men who wanted 
to kill him. He had his life in his hands all 
the time. For instance, he had next to kill the 
friend of the desperado whom he had shot. By 
this time, Abilene respected its new marshal; 
indeed, was rather proud of him. The reign 



1 82 The Story of 

of the bad man of the plains was at Its height, 
and the professional man-killer, the specialist 
with firearms, was a figure here and there over 
wide regions. Among all these none compared 
with this unique specimen. He was generous, 
too, as he was deadly, for even yet he was sup- 
porting a McCandlas widow, and he always 
furnished funerals for his corpses. He had one 
more to furnish soon. Enemies down the 
range among the cow men made up a purse of 
five thousand dollars, and hired eight men to 
kill the town marshal and bring his heart back 
South. BUI heard of It, and literally made all 
of them jump off the railroad train where he 
met them. One was killed In the jump. His 
list of homicides was now eighty-one. He had 
never yet been arrested for murder, and his kill- 
ing was In fair open fight, his life usually against 
large odds. He was a strange favorite of for- 
tune, who seemed certainly to shield him round- 
about. 

Bill now went East for another try at theatri- 
cals, in which, happily, he was unsuccessful, and 
for which he felt a strong distaste. He was 
scared — on the stage; and when he saw what 
was expected of him he quit and went back once 
more to the West. He appeared at Cheyenne, 



The Outlaw 183 

in the Black Hills, wandering thus from one 
point to another after the fashion of the fron- 
tier, where a man did many things and in many 
places. He had a little brush with a band of 
Indians, and killed four of them with four 
shots from his six-shooter, bringing his list in 
red and white to eighty-five men. He got away 
alive from the Black Hills with difficulty; but in 
1876 he was back again at Deadwood, married 
now, and, one would have thought, ready to 
settle down. 

But the life of turbulence ends in turbulence. 
He who lives by the sword dies by the sword. 
Deadwood was as bad a place as any that could 
be found in the mining regions, and Bill was 
not an officer here, as he had been in Kansas 
towns. As marshal of Hays and Abilene and 
United States marshal later at Hays City, he 
had been a national character. He was at 
Deadwood for the time only plain Wild Bill, 
handsome, quiet, but ready for anything. 

Ready for anything but treachery ! He him- 
self had always fought fair and in the open. 
His men were shot in front. Not such was to 
be his fate. On the day of August 2, 1876, 
while he was sitting at a game of cards in a 
saloon, a hard citizen by name of Jack McCall 



184 The Story of 

slipped up behind him, placed a pistol to the 
back of his head, and shot him dead before he 
knew he had an enemy near. The ball passed 
through Bill's head and out at the cheek, lodg- 
ing In the arm of a man across the table. 

Bill had won a little money from McCall 
earlier In the day, and won it fairly, but the 
latter had a grudge, and was no doubt one of 
those disgruntled souls who "had it In" for all 
the rest of the world. He got away with the 
killing at the time, for a miners' court let him 
go. A few days later, he began to boast about 
his act, seeing what fame was his for ending so 
famous a life; but at Yankton they arrested him, 
tried him before a real court, convicted him, 
and hanged him promptly. 

Wild Bill's body was burled at Deadwood, 
and his grave, surrounded by a neat railing and 
marked by a monument, long remained one of 
the features of Deadwood. The monument and 
fence were disfigured by vandals who sought 
some memento of the greatest bad man ever 
in all likelihood seen upon the earth. His tally 
of eighty-five men seems large, but in fair prob- 
ability it is not large enough. His main en- 
counters are known historically. He killed a 
great many Indians at different times, but of 



The Outlaw 185 

these no accurate estimate can be claimed. Nor 
is his list of victims as a sharpshooter in the 
army legitimately to be added to his record. 
Cutting out all doubtful instances, however, 
there remains no doubt that he killed between 
twenty and thirty men in personal combat in 
the open, and that never once was he tried in 
any court on a charge even of manslaughter. 

This record is not approached by that of any 
other known bad man. Many of them are 
credited with twenty men, a dozen men, and so 
forth; but when the records are sifted the list 
dwindles. It is doubted whether any other bad 
man in America ever actually killed twenty men 
in fair personal combat. Bill was not killed 
in fair fight, nor could McCall have hurt him 
had Bill suspected his intent. 

Hickok was about thirty-nine years old when 
killed, and he had averaged a little more than 
two men for each year of his entire life. He 
was well-known among army officers, and es- 
teemed as a scout and a man, never regarded 
as a tough in any sense. He was a man of 
singular personal beauty. Of him General 
Custer, soon thereafter to fall a victim himself 
upon the plains, said: "He was a plainsman 
In every sense of the word, yet unlike any other 



1 86 The Story of 

of his class. Whether on foot or on horse- 
back, he was one of the most perfect types of 
physical manhood I ever saw. His manner was 
entirely free from all bluster and bravado. He 
never spoke of himself unless requested to do 
so. His influence among the frontiersmen was 
unbounded; his word was law. Wild Bill was 
anything but a quarrelsome man, yet none but 
himself could enumerate the many conflicts in 
which he had been engaged.'' 

These are the words of one fighting man 
about another, and both men are entitled to 
good rank in the annals of the West. The 
praise of an army general for a man of no rank 
or wealth leaves us feeling that, after all, it 
was a possible thing for a bad man to be a good 
man, and worthy of respect and admiration, 
utterly unmingled with maudlin sentiment or 
weak love for the melodramatic. 



The Outlaw 187 



Chapter XIII 

Frontier Wars — Armed Conflicts of Bodies of 
Men on the Frontiers — Political Wars; Town 
Site Wars; Cattle Wars — Factional Fights^ 

THE history of the border wars on the 
American frontier, where the fighting 
was more like battle than murder, and 
where the extent of the crimes against law be- 
came too large for the law ever to undertake 
any settlement, would make a long series of 
bloody volumes. These wars of the frontier 
were sometimes political, as the Kansas anti- 
slavery warfare; or, again, they were fights 
over town sites, one armed band against an- 
other, and both against the law. Wars over 
cows, as of the cattle men against the rustlers and 
"little fellows," often took on the phase of large 
armed bodies of men meeting in bloody en- 
counter; though the bloodiest of these wars are 
those least known, and the opera boujfe wars 
those most widely advertised. 



I 88 The Story of 

The state of Kansas, now so calm and peace- 
ful, is difficult to picture as the scene of a gen- 
eral bloodshed; yet wherever you scratch Kan- 
sas history you find a fight. No territory of 
equal size has had so much war over so many 
different causes. Her story in Indian fighting, 
gambler fighting, outlaw fighting, town site 
fighting, and political fighting Is one not ap- 
proached by any other portion of the West; 
and if at times it was marked with fanaticism or 
with sordidness. It was none the less bitter and 
notable. 

The border wars of Kansas and Missouri at 
the time immediately preceding the civil war 
would be famed in song and story, had not the 
greater conflict between North and South wiped 
all that out of memory. Even the North was 
divided over the great question of the repeal of 
the Missouri Compromise. Alabama, Arkan- 
sas, California, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, 
Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mary- 
land, Michigan, Missouri, New Hampshire, 
North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, 
Texas, and Virginia gave a whole or a majority 
vote for this repeal of the Compromise. 
Against the repeal were Connecticut, Maine, 
Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, 



The Outlaw 189 



Rhode Island, Vermont, and Wisconsin. Illi- 
nois and New Jersey voted a tie vote. Ohio 
cast four votes for the repeal measure, seven- 
teen against it. 

This vote brought the territories of Kansas 
and Nebraska into the Union with the option 
open on whether or not they should have 
slavery: "it being the true intent and meaning 
of this act not to legislate slavery into any terri- 
tory, nor to exclude it therefrom, but to leave 
the people thereof perfectly free to form and 
regulate their own domestic institutions in their 
own way." 

That was very well; but who were "the peo- 
ple" of these debated grounds? Hundreds of 
abolitionists of the North thought it their duty 
to flock to Kansas and take up arms. Hundreds 
of the inhabitants of Missouri thought it in- 
cumbent upon them to run across the line and 
vote in Kansas on the "domestic institutions"; 
and to shoot in Kansas and to burn and ravage 
in Kansas. They were met by the anti-slavery 
legions along the wide frontier, and brother 
slew brother for years, one series of more or 
less ignoble and dastardly outrages following 
another in big or little, murders and arson In 
big or little, until the whole country at last was 



190 The Story of 

drawn into this matter of the domestic institu- 
tions of "bleeding Kansas." The animosities 
formed in those days were bitter and enduring 
ones, and the more prominent figures on both 
sides were men marked for later slaughter. 
The civil war and the slavery question were 
fought out all over the West for ten years, even 
twenty years after the war was over. Some 
large figures camiC up out of this internecine 
strife, and there were many deeds of courage 
and many romantic adventures; but on the 
whole, although the result of all this was for 
the best, and added another state to the list 
unalterably opposed to human slavery, the 
story in detail is not a pleasant one, and adds 
no great glory to either side. It Is a chapter 
of American history which is very well let alone. 
When the railroads came across the Western 
plains, they brought a man who has been pres- 
ent on the American frontier ever since the 
revolutionary war, — the land boomer. He was 
In Kentucky In time to rob poor old Daniel 
Boone of all the lands he thought he owned. 
He founded Marietta, on the Ohio river, on a 
land steal; and thence, westward, laid out one 
town after another. The early settler who 
came down the Ohio valley in the first and sec- 



The Outlaw i g I 



ond decades of the past century passed the 
ruins of abandoned towns far back to the east 
even in that day. The town-site shark passed 
across the Mississippi river and the Missouri, 
and everywhere his record was the same. He 
was the pioneer of avarice in very many cases, 
and often he Inaugurated strife where he pur- 
ported to be establishing law. Each town 
thought itself the garden spot and center of the 
universe — one knows not how many Kansas 
towns, for instance, contended over the absurd 
honor of being exactly at the center of the 
United States! — and local pride was such that 
each citizen must unite with others even in arms, 
if need be, to uphold the merits of his own 
"city." 

This peculiar phase of frontier nature usually 
came most into evidence over the questions of 
county seats. Hardly a frontier county seat 
was ever established without a fight of some 
kind, and often a bloody one. It has chanced 
that the author has been m and around a few 
of these clashes between rival towns, and he 
may say that the vehemence of the antagonism 
of such encounters would have been humorous, 
had it not been so deadly. Two "cities," com- 
posed each of a few frame shanties and a set of 



192 The Story of 

blue-print maps, one just as barren of delight 
as the other, and neither worth fighting over 
at the time, do not seem typical of any great 
moral purpose; yet at times their citizens 
fought as stubbornly as did the men who fought 
for and against slavery in Kansas. One in- 
stance of this sort of thing will do, and it is 
covered in the chapter describing the Stevens 
County War, one of the most desperate and 
bloody, as well as one of the most recent feuds 
of local politicians. 

For some reason, perhaps that of remoteness 
of time, the wars of the cow men of the range 
seem to have had a bolder, a less sordid and 
more romantic interest, if these terms be allow- 
able. When the cow man began to fence up 
the free range, to shut up God's out-of-doors, 
he intrenched upon more than a local or a 
political pride. He was now infringing upon 
the great principle of personal freedom. He 
was throttling the West itself, which had 
always been a land of freedom. One does not 
know whether all one's readers have known it, 
that unspeakable feeling of freedom, of inde- 
pendence, of rebellion at restraint, which came 
when one could ride or drive for days across 
the empire of the plains and never meet a fence 



The Outlaw 193 

to hinder, nor need a road to show the way. To 
meet one of these new far-flung fences of the 
rich men who began to take up the West was 
at that time only to cut it and ride on. The 
free men of the West would not be fenced in. 
The range was theirs, so they blindly and lov- 
ingly thought. Let those blame them who love 
this day more than that. 

But the fence was the sign of the property- 
owning man ; and the property-owning man has 
always beaten the nomad and the restless man 
at last, and set metes and bounds for him to ob- 
serve. The nesters and rustlers fought out the 
battle for the free range more fiercely than was 
ever generally known. 

One of the most widely known of these cow 
wars was the absurd Johnson County War, 
of Wyoming, which got much newspaper ad- 
vertising at the time — the summer of 1892 — 
and which was always referred to with a certain 
contempt among old-timers as the "dude war." 
Only two men were killed in this war, and the 
non-resident cattle men who undertook to be 
ultra-Western and do a little vigilante work 
for themselves among the rustlers found that 
they were not fit for the task. They were 
very glad indeed to get themselves arrested 



194 T'he Story of 

and under cover, more especially in the protec- 
tion of the military. They found that they had 
not lost any rustlers when they stirred up a 
whole valley full and were themselves besieged, 
surrounded, and well-nigh ready for a general 
wiping out. They killed a couple of "little fel- 
lows," or, rather, some of their hired Texas 
cow boys did it for them, but that was all they 
accomplished, except well-nigh to bankrupt 
Wyoming in the legal muddle, out of which, of 
course, nothing came. There were in this party 
of cattle men a member of the legislature, a 
member of the stock commission, some two 
dozen wealthy cattle men, two Harvard gradu- 
ates, and a young Englishman in search of ad- 
venture. They made, on the whole, about the 
most contemptible and inefficient band of vigi- 
lantes that ever went out to regulate things, 
although their deeds were reported by wire to 
many journals, and for a time perhaps they felt 
that they were cutting quite a figure. They had 
very large property losses to incite them to their 
action, for the rustlers were then pretty much 
running things in that part of Wyoming, and 
the local courts would not convict them. This 
fiasco scarcely hastened the advent of the day — 
which came soon enough after the railroads and 



The Outlaw 195 

the farmers — under which the home dweller 
outweighed the nomad.* 

Wars between sheep men and cattle men 
sometimes took on the phase of armed bodies 
of men meeting In bloody encounter. The 
sheep were always unwelcome on the range, 
and are so to-day, although the courts now ad- 
just such matters better than they formerly did. 
The cow baron and his men often took revenge 
upon the woolly nuisances themselves and killed 
them In numbers. The author knows of one 
Instance where five thousand sheep were killed 
In one box canon by Irate cow men whose range 
had been Invaded. The sheep eat the grass 
down to the point of killing It, and cattle will 
not feed on a country which sheep have crossed. 
Many wars of this kind have been known all 
the way from Montana to Mexico. 

Again, factional fights might arise over some 
trivial matter as an Immediate cause. In a com- 
munity or a region where numbers of men 
fairly equal were separated In self-interest. In 
a day when life was still wild and free, and 
when the law was still unknown, these differ- 
ences of opinion sometimes led to bitter and 
bloody conflicts between factions. 

* See "The Story of the Cowboy," by E. Hough. D. Appleton & Co. 



196 The Story of 



Chapter XIV 

The Lincoln County War — The Bloodiest^ 
Most Dramatic and Most Romantic of all the 
Border Wars — First Authentic Story Ever 
Printed of the Bitterest Feud of the Southwest. 

THE entire history of the American 
frontier is one of rebellion against the 
law, if, indeed, that may be called re- 
bellion whose apostles have not yet recognized 
any authority of the law. The frontier ante- 
dated anarchy. It broke no social compact, for 
it had never made one. Its population asked 
no protection save that afforded under the stern 
suzerainty of the six-shooter. The anarchy of 
the frontier, if we may call it such, was some- 
times little more than self-interest against self- 
interest. This was the true description of the 
border conflict now in question. 

The Lincoln County War, fully speaking, 
embraced three wars; the Pecos War of the 
early '70's, the Harold War of 1874, and the 



The Outlaw 



197 



Lincoln County War proper, which may be said 
to have begun in 1874 and to have ended in 
1879. The actors in these different conflicts 
were all intermingled. There was no blood 
feud at the bottom of this fighting. It was the 
war of self-interest against self-interest, each 
side supported by numbers of fighting men. 

At that time Lincoln County, New Mexico, 
was about as large as the state of Pennsylvania. 
For judicial purposes it was annexed to Donna 
Ana County, and its territories included both 
the present counties of Eddy and Chaves, and 
part of what is now Donna Ana. It extended 
west practically as far the Rio Grande river, 
and embraced a tract of mountains and high 
tableland nearly two hundred miles square. 
Out of this mountain chain, to the east and 
southeast, ran two beautiful mountain streams, 
the Bonito and the Ruidoso, flowing Into the 
Hondo, which continues on to the flat valley of 
the Pecos river — once the natural pathway of 
the Texas cattle herds bound north to Utah and 
the mountain territories, and hence the natural 
pathway also for many lawful or lawless citi- 
zens from Texas. 

At the close of the civil war, Texas was full 
of unbranded and unowned cattle. Out of the 



198 The Story of 

town of Paris, Texas, which was founded by 
his father, came one John Chlsum — one of the 
most typical cow men that ever Hved. Bold, 
fearless, shrewd, unscrupulous, genial, mag- 
netic, he was the man of all others to occupy a 
kingdom which had heretofore had no ruler. 

John Chlsum drove the first herds up the 
Pecos trail to the territorial market. He held 
at one time perhaps eighty thousand head of 
cattle under his brand of the "Long I" and 
"jinglebob." Moreover, he had powers of at- 
torney from a great many cow men In Texas 
and lower New Mexico, authorizing him to 
take up any trail cattle which he found under 
their respective brands. He carried a tin cylin- 
der, large as a water-spout, that contained, 
some said, more than a thousand of these pow- 
ers of attorney. At least, It Is certain he had 
papers enough to give him a wide authority. 
Chlsum riders combed every north-bound herd. 
If they found the cattle of any of his "friends," 
they were cut out and turned on the Chlsum 
range. There were many "little fellows," 
small cattlemen, nested here and there on the 
flanks of the Chlsum herds. What more natural 
than that they should steal from him, in case 
they found a market of their own? That was 



The Outlaw 199 

much easier than raising cows of their own. 
Now, there was a market up this winding Bo- 
nlto valley, at Lincoln and Fort Stanton. The 
soldiers of the latter post, and the Indians of 
the Mescalero reservation near by, needed sup- 
plies. There were others besides John Chlsum 
who might need a beef contract now and then, 
and cattle to fill it. 

At the end of the civil war, there was in 
New Mexico, with what was known as the Cali- 
fornia Column, which joined the forces of New 
Mexican volunteers, an officer known as Major 
L. G. Murphy. After the war, a great many 
men settled near the points where they were mus- 
tered out In the South and West. It was thus 
with Major Murphy, who located as post- 
trader at the little frontier post known as Fort 
Stanton, which was founded by Captain Frank 
Stanton in 1854, in the Indian days. John 
Chlsum located his Bosque Grande ranch 
about 1865, and Murphy came to Fort Stanton 
about 1866. In 1875, Chlsum dropped down 
to his South Spring River ranch, and by that 
time Murphy had been thrown out of the post- 
tradershlp by Major Clendenning, command- 
ing officer, who did not like his methods. He 
had dropped nine miles down the Bonlto from 



200 The Story of 

Fort Stanton, with two young associates, under 
the firm name of Murphy, Riley & Dolan, some- 
times spoken of as L. G. Murphy & Co. 

Murphy was a hard-drinking man, yet withal 
something of a student. He was intelligent, 
generous, bold and shrewd. He "staked'* 
every little cow man in Lincoln county, includ- 
ing a great many who hung on the flanks of 
John Chlsum's herds. These men in turn were 
in their ethics bound to support him and his 
methods. Murphy was king of the Bonito 
country. Chlsum was king of the Pecos; not 
merchant but cow man, and caring for nothing 
which had not grass and water on it. 

Here, then, were two rival kings. Each at 
times had occasion for a beef contract. The 
result Is obvious to anyone who knows the ways 
of the remoter West In earlier days. The 
times were ripe for trouble. Murphy bought 
stolen beef, and furnished bran Instead of flour 
on his Indian contracts, as the government 
records show. His henchmen held the Chlsum 
herds as their legitimate prey. Thus we now 
have our stage set and peopled for the grim 
drama of a bitter border war. 

The Pecos war was mostly an Indiscriminate 
killing among cow men and cattle thieves, and 



The Outlaw 201 

it cost many lives, though it had no beginning 
and no end. The Texas men, hard riders and 
cheerful shooters for the most part, came push- 
ing up the Pecos and into the Bonito caiion. 
Among these, in 1874, were four brothers 
known as the Harold boys. Bill, Jack, Tom 
and Bob, who had come from Texas in 1872. 
Two of them located ranches on the Ruidoso, 
being "staked" therein by Major Murphy, king 
for that part of the countryside. The Harold 
boys once undertook to run the town of Lin- 
coln, and a foolish justice ordered a constable 
to arrest them. One Gillam, an ex-sheriff, told 
the boys to put on their guns. On that night 
there were killed Gillam, Bill Harold, Dave 
Warner and Martinez, the Mexican constable. 
The dead body of Martinez was lying in the 
street the next morning with a deep cross cut 
on the forehead. From that time on for the 
next five years, it was no uncommon thing to 
see dead men lying in the streets of Lincoln. 
The Harold boys had sworn revenge. 

There was a little dance in an adobe one 
night at Lincoln, when Ben Harold and some 
Texas men from the Seven Rivers country rode 
up. They killed four men and one woman that 
night before they started back to Seven Rivers. 



202 The Story of 

From that time on, it was Texas against the 
law, such as the latter was. No resident places 
the number of the victims of the Harold war 
at less than forty or fifty, and it is believed that 
at least seventy-five would be more correct. 
These killings proved the weakness of the law, 
for none of the Harold gang was ever punished. 
As for the Lincoln County War proper, the 
magazine was now handsomely laid. Only the 
spark was needed. What would that naturally 
be? Either an actual law court, or else — 
a woman! In due time, both were forth- 
coming. 

The woman in the case still lives to-day in 
New Mexico, sometimes spoken of as the ''Cat- 
tle Queen" of New Mexico. She bears now 
the name of Mrs. Susan E. Barber. Her 
maiden name was Susan E. Hummer, the name 
sometimes spelled Homer, and she was born in 
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Susan Hummer 
was a granddaughter of Anna Maria Spangler- 
Stauffer. The Spangler family is a noble one 
of Germany and very old. George Spangler 
was cup-bearer to Godfrey, Chancellor of 
Frederick Barbarossa, and was with the latter 
on the Crusade when Barbarossa was drowned 
in the Syrian river, Calycadmus, in 1190. The 



The Outlaw 



203 



American seat of this old family was in York 
county, Pennsylvania, where the first Spanglers 
settled in 1 73 1. It was from this tenacious and 
courageous ancestry that there sprang this figure 
of a border warfare in a region wild as Barba- 
rossa's realm centuries ago. 

On August 23, 1873, in Atchison, Kansas, 
Susan Hummer was married to Alexander A. 
McSween, a young lawyer fresh from the 
Washington university law school of St. Louis. 
McSween was born in Charlottetown, Prince 
Edward Island, and was educated in the first 
place as a Presbyterian minister. He was 
a man of good appearance, of intelligence and 
address, and of rather more polish than the 
average man. He was an orator, a dreamer, 
and a visionary; a strange, complex character. 
He was not a fighting man, and belonged any- 
where In the world rather than on the frontier 
of the bloody Southwest. His health was not 
good, and he resolved to journey to New 
Mexico. He and his young bride started over- 
land, with a good team and conveyance, and 
reached the little placita of Lincoln, in the 
Bonito cafion, March 15, 1875. Outside of 
the firm of Murphy, Riley & Dolan, there were 
at that time but one or two other American 



204 The Story of 

families. McSween started up in the practice 
of law. 

There appeared In northern New Mexico at 
about this time an Englishman by the name of 
J. H. Tunstall, newly arrived In the West In 
search of Investment. Tunstall was told that 
there was good open cattle range to be had In 
Lincoln county. He came to Lincoln, met Mc- 
Sween, formed a partnership with him In the 
banking and mercantile business, and, more- 
over, started for himself, and altogether Inde- 
pendently, a horse and cattle ranch on the Rio 
Fellz, a day's journey below Lincoln. Now, 
King Murphy, of Lincoln county, found a rival 
business growing up directly under his eyes. He 
liked this no better than King Chlsum liked the 
little cow men on his flanks In the Seven Rivers 
country. Things were ripening still more 
rapidly for trouble. Presently, the Immediate 
cause made Its appearance. 

There had been a former partner and friend 
of Major Murphy In the post-tradership at 
Fort Stanton, Colonel Emil Fritz, who estab- 
lished the Fritz ranch, a few miles below Lin- 
coln. Colonel Fritz having amassed a consider- 
able fortune, concluded to return to Germany. 
He had Insured his life In the American Insur- 



The Outlaw 20 c 

ance Company for ten thousand dollars, and 
had made a will leaving this policy, or the 
greater part of it, to his sister. The latter had 
married a clerk at Fort Stanton by the name of 
Scholland, but did not get along well with her 
husband. Heretofore no such thing as divorce 
had been known in that part of the world; but 
courts and lawyers were now present, and it 
occurred to Mrs. Scholland to have a divorce. 
She sent to Mr. McSween for legal counsel, and 
for a time lived in the McSween house. 

Now came news of the death, in Germany, 
of Colonel Emil Fritz. His brother, Charlie 
Fritz, undertook to look up the estate. He 
found the will and insurance policy had been 
left with Major Murphy; but Major Murphy, 
accustomed to running affairs in his own way, 
refused to give up the Emil Fritz will, and 
forced McSween to get a court order appoint- 
ing Mrs. Scholland administratrix of the Fritz 
estate. Not even in that capacity would Major 
Murphy deliver to her the will and insurance 
policy when they were demanded, and it is 
claimed that he destroyed the will. Certainly 
it was never probated. Murphy was accus- 
tomed to keep this will in a tin can, hid in a hole 
in the adobe wall of his store building. There 



2o6 The Story of 

were no safes at that time and place. The 
policy had been left as security for a loan of 
nine hundred dollars advanced by a firm known 
as Splegelberg Brothers. Few Ingredients were 
now lacking for a typical melodrama. Mean- 
time the plot thickened by the failure of the in- 
surance company! 

McSween, In the interest of Mrs. Scholland, 
now went East to see what could be done In the 
collection of the Insurance policy. He was able 
finally, In 1876, to collect the full amount of ten 
thousand dollars, and this he deposited In his 
own name In a St. Louis bank then owned by 
Colonel Hunter. He had been obliged to pay 
the Splegelbergs the face of their loan before 
he could get the policy to take East with him. 
He wished to be secured against this advance- 
ment and reimbursed as well for his expenses, 
which, together with his fee, amounted to a con- 
siderable sum. Moreover, the German Minis- 
ter enjoined McSween from turning over any 
of this money, as there were other heirs in Ger- 
many. Major Murphy owed McSween some 
money. Colonel Fritz also died owing Mc- 
Sween thirty-three hundred dollars, fees due on 
legal work. Yet Murphy demanded the full 
amount of the Insurance policy from McSween 



The Outlaw 



207 



again and again. Murphy, Riley & Dolan 
now sued out an attachment on McSween's 
property, and levied on the goods in the Tun- 
stall-McSween store. The "law" was now 
doing its work; but there was a very liberal 
interpretation put upon the law's intent. As 
construed by Sheriff William Brady, the writ 
applied also to the Englishman Tunstall's prop- 
erty in cattle and horses on the Rio Feliz 
ranch; which, of course, was high-handed 
illegality. McSween's statement that he had no 
interest in the Feliz ranch served no purpose. 
Brady and Murphy were warm friends. The 
lawyer McSween had accused them of being 
something more than that — allies and conspira- 
tors. McSween and Tunstall bought Lincoln 
county scrip cheap; but when they presented it 
to the county treasurer. Murphy, it was 
not paid, and it was charged that he and 
Brady had made away with the county funds. 
That was never proved, for, as a matter of fact, 
no county books were ever kept! McSween 
started the first set ever known there. 

At this time there was working for Tunstall 
on the Feliz ranch the noted desperado, Billy 
the Kid, who a short time formerly had worked 
for John Chisum. The latter at this stage of 



2o8 The Story of 

the advancing troubles, appears rather as a third 
party, or as holding one point of a triangle, 
whose other two corners were occupied by the 
Murphy and McSween factions. 

Whether or not it was a legal posse which 
went out to serve the attachment on the Tun- 
stall cattle — or whether or not a posse was 
necessary for that purpose — the truth is that a 
band of men, on February 13th, 1878, did go 
out under some semblance of the law and in the 
interests of the Murphy people's claim. Some 
state that William S. Morton, or ''Billy" Mor- 
ton, was chosen by Sheriff Brady as his deputy 
and as leader of this posse. Others name dif- 
ferent men as leaders. Certainly, the band was 
suited for any desperate occasion. With it was 
one Tom Hill, who had killed several men at 
different times, and who had been heard to say 
that he intended to kill Tunstall. There was 
also Jesse Evans, just in from the Rio Grande 
country, and, unless that were Billy the Kid, 
the most redoubtable fighter in all that country. 
Evans had formerly worked for John Chisum, 
and had been the friend of Billy the Kid; but 
these two had now become enemies. Others of 
the party were William M. Johnson, Ham 
Mills, Johnnie Hurley, Frank Baker, several 



The Outlaw 209 

ranchers still living in that country, and two or 
three Mexicans. All these rode across the 
mountains to the Ruidoso valley on their way 
to the Rio Feliz. They met, coming from the 
Tunstall ranch, Tunstall himself in company 
with his foreman, Dick Brewer, John Middle- 
ton and Billy the Kid. When the Murphy 
posse came up with Tunstall, he was alone. His 
men were at the time chasing a flock of wild 
turkeys along a distant hillside. When called 
upon to halt, Tunstall did so, and then came up 
toward the posse. 'Tou wouldn't hurt me, boys, 
would you?" he said, as he approached lead- 
ing his horse. When within a few yards, Tom 
Hill said to him, "Why, hello, Tunstall, is that 
you?" and almost with the words fired upon him 
with his six-shooter and shot him down. Some 
say that Hill shot Tunstall again, and a young 
Mexican boy called Pantilon beat in his skull 
with a rock. They put Tunstall's hat under his 
head and left him lying there beside his horse, 
which was also killed. His folded coat was 
found under the horse's head. His body, lashed 
on a burro's back, was brought over the moun- 
tains by his friends that night Into Lincoln, 
twenty miles distant. Fifty men took up the 
McSween fight that night ; for. In truth, the kill- 



2IO The Story of 

Ing of Tunstall was murder and without justifi- 
cation. 

That was the beginning of the actual Lincoln 
County War. Dick Brewer, Tunstall's fore- 
man, was now leader of the McSween fighting 
men. McSween, of course, supplied him with 
color of "legal" authority. He was appointed 
"special constable." Neither party had diffi- 
culty in obtaining all the legal papers required. 
Each party was presently to have a sheriff of its 
own. Meantime, there was at Lincoln an accom- 
modating justice of the peace, John P. Wilson, 
who was ready to give either faction any sort 
of legal paper it demanded. Dick Brewer, 
Billy the Kid, and nearly a dozen others of the 
first McSween posse started to the lower 
country, where lived a good many of Murphy's 
friends, small cow men and others. On the Rio 
Penasco, about six miles from the Pecos, they 
came across a party of five men, two of whom, 
Billy Morton and Frank Baker, had been pres- 
ent at the killing of Tunstall. Baker and Mor- 
ton surrendered under promise of safekeeping, 
and were held for a time at Roswell. On the 
trail from Roswell to Lincoln, at a point near 
the Agua Negra, both these men, while kneel- 
ing and pleading for their lives, were de- 



The Outlaw 211 

llberately shot and killed by Billy the Kid. 
There was with the Brewer posse a buffalo-hun- 
ter by the name of McClosky, who had prom- 
ised to take care of these prisoners. Joe Mc- 
Nab, of the posse, shot and killed McClosky in 
cold blood. In this McSween posse were "Doc" 
Skurlock, Charlie Bowdre, Billy the Kid, Hen- 
dry Brown, Jim French, John Middleton, with 
McNab, Wait and Smith, besides McClosky, 
who seems not to have been loyal enough to 
them to sanction cold blooded murder. These 
victims were killed March 7th, 1878. 

There had now been deliberate murder com- 
mitted upon the one side and upon the other. 
There were many men implicated on each side. 
These men, in self-interest, now drew apart to- 
gether. The factions, of necessity, became 
more firmly established. It may be seen that 
there was very little principle at stake on either 
side. The country was now simply going wild 
again. It meant to take the law into its own 
hands; and the population was divided into 
these two factions, to one or the other of which 
every resident must perforce belong. A choice, 
and sometimes a quick one, was an Imperative 
necessity. 

The next killing was that of Buckshot Rob- 



212 The Story of 

erts, at Blazer's Mill, near the Mescalero Res- 
ervation buildings, an affair described in a later 
chapter. Thirteen men, later of the Kid's 
gang, led by Dick Brewer, attacked Roberts, 
who killed Dick Brewer before he himself died. 
The death of the latter left the Kid chief of the 
McSween forces. 

A great blood lust now possessed all the popu- 
lation. It wanted no law. There is no doubt 
about the intention to make away with Judge 
Warren Bristol of the circuit court. The lat- 
ter, knowing of these turbulent times in Lincoln, 
decided not to hold court. He sent word to 
Sheriff William Brady to open court and then 
at once to adjourn it. This was on April i, 
1878. 

Sheriff Brady, In walking down the street 
toward the dwelling-house in which court ses- 
sions were then held, was obliged to pass the 
McSween store and residence. Behind the cor- 
ral wall, there lay ambushed Billy the Kid and 
at least five others of his gang. Brady was ac- 
companied by Billy Matthews (J. B. Matthews, 
now dead; postmaster of Roswell, New 
Mexico, In 1904), by George Hindman, his 
deputy, and Dad Peppin, later sheriff of Lin- 
coln county. The Kid and his men waited until 



The Outlaw 213 

the victims had gone by. Then a volley was fired. 
Sheriff Brady, shot in the back, slowly sank 
down, his knees weakening under him. "My 
God! My God I My God I" he exclaimed, as 
he gradually dropped. He had been struck in 
the back by five balls. As he sank down, he 
turned his head to see his murderers, and as he 
did so received a ball in the eye, and so fell 
dead. George Hindman, the deputy, also shot 
in the back, ran down the street about one hun- 
dred and fifty yards before he fell. He lay in 
the street and few dared to go out to him. A 
saloon-keeper, Ike Stockton (himself a bad 
man, and later killed at Durango, Colorado), 
offered him a drink of water, which he brought 
in his hat, and Hindman, accepting it, fell back 
dead. 

The murder of Sheriff Brady left the country 
without even the semblance of law; but each 
party now took steps to set up a legal machinery 
of its own, as cover for its own acts. The old 
justice of the peace, John P. Wilson, would 
Issue a warrant on any pretext for any person; 
but there must be some one with authority to 
serve the process. In a quasi-election, the Mc- 
Sween faction Instituted John Copeland as their 
sheriff. The Murphy faction held that Cope- 



214 ^^^ Story of 

land never qualified as sheriff. He lived with 
McSween part of the time. It was understood 
that he was sheriff for the purpose of bothering 
nobody but the Murphy people. 

Meantime, the other party were not thus to 
be surpassed. In June, 1878, Governor Axtell 
appointed George W. Peppin as sheriff of Lin- 
coln county. Peppin qualified at Mesilla, came 
back to Lincoln, and demanded of Copeland 
the warrants in his possession. He had, on his 
part, twelve warrants for the arrest of mem- 
bers of the McSween gang. Little lacked now 
to add confusion in this bloody coil. The coun- 
try was split into two factions. Each had a 
sheriff as a figurehead! What and where was 
the law? 

Peppin had to get fighting men to serve his 
warrants, and he could not always be particular 
about the social standing of his posses. He had 
a thankless and dangerous position as the "Mur- 
phy sheriff." Most of his posses were recruited 
from among the small ranchers and cow boys of 
the lower Pecos. Peppin was sheriff only a few 
months, and threw up the job $2,800 in debt. 

The men of both parties were now scouting 
about for each other here and there over a dis- 
trict more than a hundred miles square; but 



The Outlaw 215 

presently the war was to take on the dignity 
of a pitched battle. Early in July, 1878, the 
Kid and his gang rounded up at the McSween 
house. There were a dozen white desperadoes 
in their party. There were about forty Mexi- 
cans also identified with the McSween faction. 
These were quartered in the Montana and Ellis 
residences, well down the street. 

The Murphy forces now surrounded the Mc- 
Sween house, and at once a pitched battle began. 
The McSween men started the firing from the 
windows and loopholes of their fortress. The 
Peppin men replied. The town, divided 
against itself, held under cover. For three days 
the two little armies lay here, separated by the 
distance of the street, perhaps sixty men in all 
on the McSween side, perhaps thirty or forty 
In all on the Murphy-Peppin side, of whom 
nineteen were Americans. 

To keep the McSween men inside their forti- 
fications, Peppin had three men posted on the 
mountain side, whence they could look down 
directly upon the top of the houses, as the moun- 
tain here rises up sharply back of the narrow 
line of adobe buildings. These pickets were 
Charlie Crawford, Lucillo Montoye, and an- 
other Mexican, and with their long-range buf- 



2i6 The Story of 

falo guns they threw a good many heavy slugs 
of lead into the McSween house. At last, one 
Fernando Herrera, a McSween Mexican, 
standing In the back door of the Montana 
house, fired, at a distance of about nine hun- 
dred yards, at Charlie Crawford. The shot 
cut Crawford down, and he lay, with his back 
broken, behind a rock on the mountain side In 
the hot sun nearly all day. Crawford was later 
brought down to the street. Medical attend- 
ance there was none, and few dared to offer 
sympathy, but Captain Saturnino Baca* carried 
Crawford a drink of water. 

The death of Crawford ended the second 
day's fighting. Peppln's party now numbered 
sixteen men from the Seven Rivers country, or 

* Captain Saturnino Baca was a friend of Kit Carson, an officer in the New 
Mexican Volunteers, and the second commanding officer of Fort Stanton. 
He came to Lincoln in 1865, and purchased of J. Trujillo the old stone 
tower, as part of what was then the Baca property, near the McSween 
residence. The Bacas were recognized as non-combatants, but were friendly 
to Major Murphy. Mrs. McSween and Mrs. Baca were bitter enemies, 
and it was commonly said that, as each side had a sheriff, each side had a 
woman. Bonifacio J. Baca, son of Captain and Mrs. Baca, was a protege 
of Major Murphy, who sent him to Notre Dame University, Indiana, to be 
educated. "Bonnie" Baca was at different times clerk of the probate 
court, county assessor, deputy sheriff, etc. , and was court interpreter under 
Judge Warren H. Bristol. He was teaching school at the time Sheriff 
Brady was shot, and from his refuge in the "round tower," a few feet 
distant, saw Brady fall. Captain Baca, wife and son, were after that closely 
watched by the men of the McSween faction, but managed to remain 
neutral and never became involved in the fighting, though Billy the Kid 
more than once threatened to kill young Baca. 



The Outlaw 217 



twenty-eight In all. The McSween men be- 
sieged In the adobe were Billy the Kid, Harvey 
Norrls (killed), Tom O'FoUIard, Ighenio Sala- 
zar (wounded and left for dead), Ignacio Gon- 
zales, Jose Semora (killed), Francisco Romero 
(killed), and Alexander A. McSween, leader 
of the faction (killed). Doc Skurlock, Jack 
Middleton, and Charlie Bowdre were in the 
adjoining store building. 

At about noon of the third day, old Andy 
Boyle, ex-soldier of the British army, said, 
*'We'll have to get a cannon and blow In the 
doors. I'll go up to the fort and steal a can- 
non." Half-way up to the fort, he found his 
cannon — two Catling guns and a troop of 
colored cavalry — already on the road to stop 
what had been reported as firing on women and 
children. The detachment was under charge of 
the commanding officer of Fort Stanton, Colo- 
nel Dudley, who marched his men past the be- 
leagured house and drew them up below the 
place. Colonel Dudley was besought by Mrs. 
McSween, who came out under fire, to save her 
husband's life; but he refused to Interfere or 
take side In the matter, saying that the sheriff 
of the county was there and in charge of his 
own posse. Mrs. McSween refused to accept 



21 8 The Story of 

protection and go up to the post, but returned 
to her husband for what she knew must soon be 
the end. 

McSween, ex-minister, lawyer, honest or dis- 
honest instigator, innocent or malicious cause — 
and one may choose his adjectives in this mat- 
ter — of all these bloody scenes, now sat in the 
house, his head bowed in his hands, the picture 
of foreboding despair. His nerve was abso- 
lutely gone. No one paid any attention to him. 
His wife, the actual leader, was far braver than 
he. The Kid was the commander. "They'd 
kill us all if we surrendered," he said. *'We'll 
shoot it out!" 

Old Andy Boyle got some sticks and some 
coal oil, and, under protection of rifles, started 
a fire against a street door of the house. Jack 
Long and two others also fired the house in the 
rear. A keg of powder had been concealed 
under the floor. The flames reached this pow- 
der, and there was an explosion which did more 
than anything else toward ending the siege. 

At about dusk. Bob Beckwith, old man 
Pierce, and one other man, ran around toward 
the rear of the house. Beckwith called out to 
the inmates to surrender. They demanded that 
the sheriff come for a parley. 'Tm a deputy 



The Outlaw 



219 



sheriff," replied Beckwith. It was dark or 
nearly so. Several figures burst out of the rear 
door of the burning house, among these the un- 
fortunate McSween. Around him, and ahead 
of him, ran Billy the Kid, Skurlock, French, 
O'Folliard, Bowdre, and a few others. The 
flashing of six-shooters at close range ended 
the three days' battle. McSween, still unarmed, 
dropped dead. He was found, half sitting, 
leaning against the corral wall. Bob Beckwith, 
of the Peppin forces, fell almost at the same 
time, killed by Billy the Kid. Near McSween's 
body lay those of Romero and Semora and of 
Harvey Norris. The latter was a young Kan- 
san, newly arrived in that country, of whom 
little was known. 

With the McSween party, there was one 
game Mexican, Ighenio Salazar, who is alive 
to-day, by miracle. In the rush from the house, 
Salazar was shot down, being struck by two bul- 
lets. He feigned death. Old Andy Boyle 
stood over him with his gun cocked. "I guess 
he's dead," said Andy. "If I thought he 
wasn't, I shoot him some more." They then 
jumped on Salazar's body to assure themselves. 
In the darkness, Salazar rolled over into a ditch, 
later made his escape, stopped his wounds with 



220 The Story of 

some corn husks, and found concealment in 
a Mexican house until he subsequently re- 
covered. 

This fight cost McSween his life just at the 
point when he thought he had attained success. 
Four days before he was killed, he had word 
from the United States Government's commis- 
sioner, Angell, that the President had deposed 
Governor Axtell of New Mexico, on account 
of his appointment of Dad Peppin as sheriff, 
and on charges that Axtell was favoring the 
Murphy faction. General Lew Wallace was 
now sent out as Governor of New Mexico, in- 
vested with "extraordinary powers." He 
needed them. President Hayes had issued 
governmental proclamation calling upon these 
desperate fighting men to lay down their arms, 
but it was not certain they would easily be per- 
suaded. It was a long way to Washington, and 
a short way to a six-shooter. 

General Wallace assured Mrs. McSween of 
protection, but he found there was no such 
thing as getting to the bottom of the Lincoln 
County War. It would have been necessary to 
hang the entire population of the county to ex- 
ecute a formal justice. Almost none of the in- 
dictments "stuck," and one by one the cases 



The Outlaw 221 

were dismissed. The thing was too big for the 
law. 

The only man ever actually indicted and 
brought to trial for a killing during the Lin- 
coln County War was Billy the Kid, and there 
is many a resident of Lincoln to-day who de- 
clares that the Kid was made a scapegoat; and 
many a man even to-day charges Governor 
Wallace with bad faith. Governor Wallace 
met the Kid by appointment at the Ellis House 
in Lincoln. The Kid came in fully armed, and 
the old soldier was surprised to see in him a 
bright-faced and pleasant-talking boy. In the 
presence of two witnesses now living, Governor 
Wallace asked the Kid to come in and lay down 
his arms, and promised to pardon him if he 
would stand his trial and if he should be con- 
victed in the courts. The Kid declined. 
"There is no justice for me in the courts of this 
country now,'* said he. "I've gone too far." 
And so he went back with his little gang of 
outlaws, to meet a dramatic end, after further 
Incidents in a singular and blood-stained career. 

The Lincoln County War now spread wider 
than even the boundaries of the United States. 
A United States deputy, Wiederman, had been 
employed by the father of the murdered J. H. 



222 The Story of 

Tunstall to take care of the Tunstall estates 
and to secure some kind of British revenge for 
his murder. Wiederman falsely persuaded Tun- 
stall pere that he had helped kill Frank Baker 
and Billy Morton, and Tunstall pere made him 
rich, Wiederman going to England, where it 
was safer. The British legation took up the 
matter of Tunstall's death, and the slow-mov- 
ing governmental wheels at Washington began 
to revolve. A United States indemnity was 
paid for Tunstall's life. 

Mrs. McSween, meantime, kept up her work 
in the local courts. Some time after her hus- 
band's death, she employed a lawyer by the 
name of Chapman, of Las Vegas, a one-armed 
man, to undertake the dangerous task of aiding 
her in her work of revenge. By this time, most 
of the fighters were disposed to lay down their 
arms. The whole society of the country had 
been ruined by the war. Murphy & Co. 
had long ago mortgaged everything they had, 
and a good many things which they did not 
have, e. g., some of John Chisum's cattle, to 
Tom Catron, of Sante Fe. A big peace talk 
was made in the town, and it was agreed that, 
as there was no longer any advantage of a finan- 
cial nature In keeping up the war, all parties 



H 



o 



tm 



o 




The Outlaw 



223 



concerned might as well quit organized fight- 
ing, and engage in individual pillage instead. 
Murphy & Co. were ruined. Murphy and Mc- 
Sween were both dead. Chisum could be de- 
pended upon to pay some of the debts to the 
warriors through stolen cattle, if not through 
signed checks. Why, then, should good, game 
men go on killing each other for nothing? This 
was the argument used. 

In this conference there were, on the Mur- 
phy side, Jesse Evans, Jimmie Dolan and Bill 
Campbell. On the other side were Billy the 
Kid, Tom O'Folliard and the game Mexican, 
Salazar. Each of these men had a .45 Colt at 
his belt, and a cocked Winchester in his hand. 
At last, however, the six men shook hands. 
They agreed to end the war. Then, frontier 
fashion, they set off for the nearest saloon. 

The Las Vegas lawyer. Chapman, happened 
to cross the street as these desperate fighting 
men, used to killing, now well drunken, came 
out, all armed, and all swearing friendship. 

"Halt, you, there!'' cried Bill Campbell to 
Chapman; and the latter paused. "Damn 
you," said Campbell to Chapman; "you are 

the of a that has come down 

here to stir up trouble among us fellows. We're 



224 The Story of 

peaceful. It's all settled, and weVe friends 
now. Now, damn you, just to show you're 
peaceable too, you dance." 

"Fm a gentleman," said Chapman, ''and I'll 
dance for no ruffian." An instant later, shot 
through the heart by Campbell's six-shooter, 
as is alleged, he lay dead in the roadway. No 
one dared disturb his body. He was shot at 
such close range that some papers in his coat 
pocket took fire from the powder flash, and his 
body was partially consumed as it lay there in 
the road. 

For this killing, Jimmie Dolan, Billy Mat- 
thews and Bill Campbell were indicted and 
tried. Dolan and Matthews were acquitted. 
Campbell, in default of a better jail, was kept 
in the guard-house at Fort Stanton. One night 
he disappeared, in company with his guard and 
some United States cavalry horses. Since then 
nothing has been heard of him. His real name 
was not Campbell, but Ed Richardson. 

Billy the Kid did not kill John Chisum, 
though all the country wondered at that fact. 
There was a story that he forced Chisum to 
sign a bill of sale for eight hundred head of 
cattle. He claimed that Chisum owed money 
to the McSween fighting men, to whom he had 



The Outlaw 



225 



promised salaries which were never paid; but 
no evidence exists that Chisum ever made such 
a promise, although he sometimes sent a wagon- 
load of supplies to the McSween fighting men. 

John Chisum died of cancer at Eureka 
Springs, Missouri, December 26, 1884, and his 
great holdings as a cattle king afterward be- 
came somewhat involved. He could once have 
sold out for $600,000, but later mortgaged his 
holdings for $250,000. He was concerned in 
a packing plant at Kansas City, a business into 
which he was drawn by others, and of which 
he knew nothing. 

Major Murphy died at Sante Fe before the 
big fight at Lincoln. Jimmie Dolan died a few 
years later, and lies buried in the little grave- 
yard near the Fritz ranch. Riley, the other 
member of the firm, went to Colorado, and was 
last heard of at Rocky Ford, where he was 
prosperous. The heritage of hatred was about 
all that McSween left to his widow, who pres- 
ently married George L. Barber, at Lincoln, 
and later proved herself to be a good business 
woman — good enough to make a fortune in the 
cattle business from the four hundred head of 
cattle John Chisum gave her to settle a debt 
he had owed McSween. She afterward estab- 



226 The Story of 

llshed a fine ranch near Three Rivers, New 
Mexico. 

Dad Peppin, known as the "Murphy sher- 
iff" by the McSween faction, hved out his life 
on his little holding at the edge of Lincoln 
placita. He died in 1905. His rival, John 
Copeland, died in 1902. The street of Lin- 
coln, one of the bloodiest of its size in the 
world, is silent. Another generation is grow- 
ing up. William Brady, Major Brady's eldest 
son, and Josefina Brady-Chavez, a daughter, 
live in Lincoln ; and Bob Brady, another son of 
the murdered sheriff, was long jailer at Lincoln 
jail. The law has arisen over the ruin wrought 
by lawlessness. It is a noteworthy fact that, 
although the law never punished the partici- 
pants in this border conflict, the lawlessness was 
never ended by any vigilante movement. The 
fighting was so desperate and prolonged that it 
came to be held as warfare and not as murder. 
There is no doubt that, barring the border fight- 
ing of Kansas and Missouri, this was the great- 
est of American border wars. 



The Outlaw 



227 



Chapter XV 

The Stevens County War — The Bloodiest 
County Seat War of the West — The Personal 
Narrative of a Man Who Was Shot and Left 
for Dead — The Most Expensive United States 
Court Case Ever Tried. : : : : : 

IN the month of May, 1886, the writer was 
one of a party of buffalo-hunters bound for 
the Neutral Strip and the Panhandle of 
Texas, where a small number of buffalo still re- 
mained at that time. We traveled across the en- 
tire southwestern part of Kansas, below the 
Santa Fe railroad, at a time when the great 
land boom of 1886 and 1887 was at its height. 
Town-site schemes in western Kansas were at 
that time innumerable, and a steady stream of 
immigration was pouring westward by rail and 
wagon into the high and dry plains of the coun- 
try, where at that time farming remained a 
doubtful experiment. In the course of our trav- 



2 28 The Story of 

els, we saw one morning, rising before us in the 
mirage of the plains, what seemed to be a series 
of crenelated turrets, castles peaked and bas- 
tioned. We knew this was but the mirage, and 
knew that it must have some physical cause. 
But what was a town doing in that part of the 
world ? We drove on and in a few hours found 
the town — a little, raw boom town of un- 
painted boards and tents, which had sprung 
up almost overnight In that far-off region. The 
population was that of the typical frontier town, 
and the pronounced belief of all was that this 
settlement was to be the commercial metropolis 
of the Southwest. This little town was later 
known as Woodsdale, Kansas. It offered then 
no hint of the bloody scenes In which it was 
soon to figure; but within a few weeks it was 
so deeply embroiled in war with the rival town 
of Hugoton as to make history notable even 
on that turbulent frontier. 

Mr. Herbert M. Tonney, now a prosperous 
citizen of Flora, Illinois, was a resident of that 
portion of the country In the stirring days of 
the land boom, and became involved to an ex- 
tent beyond his own seeking In this county seat 
fight. While serving as an oflicer of the peace, 
he was shot and left for dead. No story can 



The Outlaw 229 

serve so well as his personal narrative to convey 
a clear Idea of the causes, methods and results 
of a typical county seat war In the West. His 
recountal follows: 

"I do not need to swear to the truthfulness 
of my story, for I have already done so In many 
courts and under the cross-examination of some 
of the ablest lawyers In the country. I have 
repeated the story on the stand in a criminal 
case which cost the United States government 
more money than It has ever expended In any 
similar trial, unless perhaps that having to do 
with the assassination of President Lincoln. I 
can say that I know what It is to be murdered. 

"In March, 1886, I moved out Into south- 
western Kansas, In what was later to be known 
as Stevens county, then a remote and apparently 
unattractive region. In 1885 a syndicate of citi- 
zens of McPherson, Kansas, had been formed 
for the purpose of starting a new town In 
southwestern Kansas. The members were lead- 
ing bankers, lawyers, and merchants. These 
sent out an exploration party, among which 
were such men as Colonel C. E. Cook, former 
postmaster of McPherson; his brother, Orrin 
Cook, a lawyer; John Pancoast, J. B. Chamber- 
Iain, J. W. Calvert, John Robertson, and 



230 The Story of 

others. They located a section of school lands, 
In what was later known as Stevens county, as 
near the center of the proposed county as the 
range of sand dunes along the Cimarron river 
would permit. Others of the party located 
lands as close to the town site as possible. On 
August 3, 1886, Governor Martin issued a 
proclamation for the organization of Stevens 
county. It appeared upon the records of the 
State of Kansas that the new county had 2,662 
bona-fide inhabitants, of whom 868 were house- 
holders. These claimed a taxable property, in 
excess of legal exemptions, amounting to $313,- 
035, including railroad property of $140,380. 
I need not state that the organization was 
wholly based upon fraud. An election was 
called for September 9, and the town of Hugo- 
ton — at first called Hugo — was chosen. 

"There can be competition in the town-site 
business, however. At Mead Center, Kansas, 
there resided an old-time Kansas man, Colonel 
S. N. Wood, who also wanted a town site in 
the new county. Wood's partner. Captain I. 
C. Price, went down on July 3 to look over the 
situation. He was not known to the Hugoton 
men, and he was invited by Calvert, the census 
taker, to register his name as a citizen. He 



The Outlaw 231 

protested that he was only a visitor, but was 
informed that this made no possible difference; 
whereupon, Price proceeded to register his 
own name, that of his partner, those of many 
of his friends, and many purely imaginary 
persons. He also registered the families of 
these persons, and finally — in a burst of good 
American humor — went so far as to credit cer- 
tain single men of his acquaintance with large 
families, including twenty or thirty pairs of 
twins! This cheerful imagination on his part 
caused trouble afterwards; but certain It is that 
these fictitious names, twins and all, went Into 
the sworn records of Hugoton-^-an unborn 
population of a defunct town, whose own con- 
ception was in iniquity! 

"Price located a section of government land 
on the north side of the sand hills, eight miles 
from Hugoton, and this was duly platted for 
a town site. Corner lots were selling at Hugo- 
ton for $1,000 apiece, and people were flocking 
to that town. The new town was called 
Woodsdale, and Colonel Wood offered lots 
free to any who would come and build upon 
them. Settlers now streamed to Woodsdale. 
Tents, white-topped wagons and frail shanties 
sprung up as though by magic. The Woods- 



232 The Story of 

dale boom attracted even homesteaders who 
had cast in their lot with Hugoton. Many of 
these forgot their oaths in the land office, pulled 
up and filed on new quarter sections nearer to 
Woodsdale. The latter town was jubilant. 
Colonel Wood and Captain Price, in the month 
of August, held a big ratification meeting, 
taunting the men of Hugoton with those thirty 
pairs of twins that never were on land or sea. 
A great deal of bad blood was engendered at 
this time. 

"Soon after this Wood and Price started to- 
gether for Garden City. They were followed 
by a band of Hugoton men and captured in a 
dugout on the Cimarron river. Brought back 
to Hugoton, a mock trial was held upon them 
and they were released on a mock bond, being 
later taken out of town under guard. A report 
was printed in the Hugoton paper that certain 
gentlemen of that town had gone south with 
Colonel Wood and Captain Price, 'for the pur- 
pose of a friendly buffalo hunt.' It was the in- 
tention to take these two prisoners into the wild 
and lawless region of No Man's Land, or the 
Panhandle of Texas, there to kill them, and to 
bring back the report that they were accident- 
ally killed in the buffalo chase. This strange 



The Outlaw 233 

hunting party did go south, across No Man's 
Land and into the desert region lying around 
the headwaters of the Beaver. The prisoners 
knew what they were to expect, but, as it 
chanced, their captors did not dare kill them. 
Meantime, Woodsdale had organized a 'posse' 
of twenty-four men, under Captain S. O. Au- 
brey, the noted frontier trailer, formerly an 
Indian scout. This band, taking up the trail 
below Hugoton, followed and rescued Wood 
and Price, and took prisoners the entire Hugo- 
ton 'posse.' The latter were taken to Garden 
City, and here the law was in turn set at defi- 
ance by the Woodsdale men, the horses, 
wagons, arms, etc., of the Hugoton party being 
put up and sold in the court to pay the board 
of the teams, expenses of publication, etc. 
Colonel Wood bought these effects in at public 
auction. 

"By this time, Stevens county had been or- 
ganized and the Hugoton 'pull' was in the as- 
cendency. A continuance had been taken at 
Garden City by the Hugoton prisoners, who 
were charged with kidnapping. The papers in 
this case were sent down from Finney county 
to the first session of the District Court of 
Stevens county. The result was foregone. 



234 T^he Story of 

Tried by their friends, the prisoners were 
promptly discharged. 

"The feeling between the two towns was all 
the time growing more bitter. Cases had been 
brought against Calvert, the census-taker, for 
perjury, and action was taken looking toward 
the setting aside of the organization of the 
county. The Kansas legislature, however, now 
met, and the political 'pull' of Hugoton was still 
strong enough to secure a special act legalizing 
the organization of Stevens county. It was 
now the legislature against the Supreme Court; 
for a little later the Supreme Court declared 
that the organization had been made through 
open fraud and by means of perjury. 

"Naturally, trouble might have been ex- 
pected at the fall election. There were two 
centers of population, two sets of leaders, two 
clans, separated by only eight miles of sand 
hills. There could be but one county seat and 
one set of officers. Here Woodsdale began to 
suffer, for her forces were divided among 
themselves. 

"Colonel Wood, the leader of this commun- 
ity, had slated John M. Cross as his candidate 
for sheriff. A rival for the nomination was 
Sam Robinson, who owned the hotel at Woods- 



The Outlaw 235 

dale, and had Invested considerable money 
there. Robinson was about forty years of age, 
and was known to be a bad man, credited with 
two or three killings elsewhere. Wood had 
always been able to flatter him and handle him ; 
but when Cross was declared as the nominee for 
sheriff, Robinson became so embittered that he 
moved over to Hugoton, where he was later 
chosen town marshal and township constable. 
Hugoton men bought his hotel, leaving Robin- 
son In the position of holding real estate In 
Woodsdale without owning the Improvements 
on It. Hence when the town-site commission- 
ers began to Issue deeds, Robinson was debarred 
from claiming a deed by reason of the hotel 
property having been sold. Bert Nobel, a 
friend of Robinson's, sold his drug store and 
moved over with Robinson to Hugoton. Hugo- 
ton bought other property of Woodsdale mal- 
contents, leaving the buildings standing at 
Woodsdale and taking the citizens to them- 
selves. The Hugoton men put up as their can- 
didate one Dalton, and declared him elected. 
Wood contested the election, and finally suc- 
ceeded In getting his man Cross declared as 
sheriff of Stevens county. 

"It was now proposed to Issue bonds for a 



236 The Story of 

double line of railroad across this county, such 
bonds amounting to eight thousand dollars per 
mile. At this time, the population was largely 
one of adventurers, and there was hardly a foot 
of deeded land in the entire county. In the dis- 
cussion over this bond election, Robinson got 
into trouble with the new sheriff, in which Rob- 
inson was clearly in the wrong, as he had no 
county jurisdiction, being at the time of the 
altercation outside of his own township and 
town. Later on, a warrant for Robinson's 
arrest was issued and placed in the hands of 
Ed Short, town marshal of Woodsdale. Short 
was known as a killer, and hence as a fit man 
to go after Robinson.* He went to Hugoton 
to arrest Robinson, and there was a shooting 
affair, in which the citizens of Hugoton pro- 
tected their man. The Woodsdale town mar- 
shal, however, still retained his warrant and 
cherished his purpose of arresting his man. 

* This man, Ed. Short, later came to a tragic end. A man of courage, 
as has been intimated, he had assisted in the capture of a member of the 
famous Dalton gang, one Dave Bryant, who had robbed a Rock Island 
express train, and was taking him to Wichita, Kansas, to jail. On the 
way Short had occasion to go into the smoker of the train, leaving the 
prisoner in charge of the express messenger, whom Short had furnished with 
a revolver. By some means Bryant became possessed of this revolver, held 
up the messenger, and was in the act of jumping from the swiftly moving 
train, when Short came out of the smoker. Catching sight of Short, 
Bryant fired and struck him. Short returning the fire, and both falling from 
the train together, dead. 



The Outlaw 237 

"On July 22 of this year, 1888, Short learned 
that Sam Robinson, the two Cooks, and a man 
by the name of Donald, together with some 
women and children, had gone on a picnic down 
in the Neutral Strip, south of the Stevens 
county line. Short raised a 'posse' of four or 
five men and started after Robinson, who was 
surprised in camp near Goff creek. There was 
a parley, which resulted in Robinson escaping 
on a fast horse, which was tied near the shack 
where he was stopping with his wife and chil- 
dren. Short, meantime, had sent back word to 
Woodsdale, stating that he needed help to take 
Robinson. Meantime, also, the Hugoton men, 
learning that Short had started down after 
Robinson, had sent out two strong parties to 
rescue the latter. A battle was imminent. 

"It was at this time that I myself appeared 
upon the scene of this turbulent and lawless 
drama, although, in my own case, I went as a 
somewhat unwilling participant and as a servant 
of the law, not anticipating consequences so 
grave as those which followed. 

"The sheriff of the county, John M. Cross, 
on receiving the message from Short, called for 
volunteers, which was equivalent to summoning 
a 'posse.' He knew there was going to be 



238 The Story of 

trouble, and left his money and watch behind 
him, stating that he feared for the result of his 
errand. . His 'posse' was made up of Ted 
Eaton, Bob Hubbard, Holland Wilcox, and 
myself. At that time I was only a boy, about 
nineteen years of age. 

"We had a long and hard ride to Reed's 
camp, on Goff creek, whence Short had sent up 
his message. Arriving there, we found Reed, 
who was catching wild horses, together with a 
man by the name of Patterson and another man, 
but Short was not in sight. From Reed we 
learned that Robinson had gotten away from 
Short, who had started back, leaving word for 
Mr. Cross, should he arrive, to return home. 
A band of men from Hugoton, we learned 
later, had overtaken Short and his men and 
chased them for twenty-five miles, but the lat- 
ter reached Springfield, Seward county, un- 
harmed. 

"Robinson, who had made his escape to a 
cow camp and thence to Hugoton upon a fresh 
horse, now met and led down into the Strip 
one of the first Hugoton 'posses.' Among them 
were Orrin Cook, Charles Cook, J. W. Cal- 
vert, J. B. Chamberlain, John Jackson, John 
A. Rutter, Fred Brewer, William Clark, and a 



The Outlaw 239 

few others. Robinson was, of course, the 
leader of this band. 

"After Sheriff Cross asked me to go down 
with him to see what had become of Ed Short, 
I went over and got Wilcox and we rode down 
to the settlement of Voorhees. Thence we rode 
to Goff creek, and all reached Reed's camp 
about seven or eight o'clock on Wednesday 
morning, July 25, 1888. Here we remained 
until about five o'clock of that afternoon, when 
we started for home. Our horses gave out, and 
we got off and led them until well on Into the 
night. 

*'At about moonrlse, we came to a place In 
the Neutral Strip known as the 'Hay Mead- 
ows,* where there was a sort of pool of standing 
water, at which settlers cut a kind of coarse hay. 
There was In camp there, making hay, an old 
man by the name of A. B. Haas, of Voorhees, 
and with him were his sons, C. and Keen Haas, 
as well as Dave Scott, a Hugoton partisan. 
When we met these people here, we concluded 
to stop for a while. Eaton and Wilcox got 
into the wagon-box and lay down. My horse 
got loose and I was a few minutes In repicket- 
Ing him. I had not been lying down more than 
twenty minutes, when we were surprised by the 



240 The Story of 

Hugoton 'posse' under Robinson. The latter 
had left the trail, which came down from the 
northeast, and were close upon us. They had 
evidently been watching us during the evening 
with field-glasses, as they seemed to know where 
we had stopped, and had completely surrounded 
us before we knew of their being near us. 

"The first I heard was Cross exclaiming, 
'They have got us!' At that time there was 
shooting, and Robinson called out, 'Boys, close 
in!' He called out to Cross, 'Surrender, and 
hold up your hands!' Our arms were mostly 
against the haystacks. Not one of us fired a 
shot, or could have done so at that moment. 

"Sheriff Cross, Hubbard, and myself got up 
and stood together. We held up our hands. 
They did not seem to notice Wilcox and Eaton, 
who were lying In the wagon. Robinson called 
out to Cross, 'Give up your arms !' 

" 'I have no arms,' replied Cross. He ex- 
plained that his Winchester was on his saddle 
and that he had no revolver. 

" 'I know better than that,' said Robinson. 
'Search him !' Some one of the Hugoton party 
then went over Cross after weapons, and told 
Robinson that he had no arms. 

1 know better,' reiterated Robinson. The 



(t r 



The Outlaw 241 

others stood free at that moment, and Robin- 
son exclaimed, 'Sheriff Cross, you are my first 
man.' He raised his Winchester and fired at 
Cross, a distance of a few feet, and I saw Cross 
fall dead at my side. It was all a sort of trance 
or dream to me. I did not seem to realize what 
was going on, but knew that I could make no 
resistance. My gun was not within reach. I 
knew that I, too, would be shot down. 

"Hubbard had now been disarmed, if indeed 
he had on any weapon. Robinson remarked to 
him, 'I want you, too!' and as he spoke he 
raised his Winchester and shot him dead, Hub- 
bard also falling close to where I stood, his 
murderer being but a few feet from him. 

"I knew that my turn must come pretty soon. 
It was Chamberlain who was to be my execu- 
tioner, J. B. Chamberlain, chairman of the 
board of county commissioners of Stevens 
county, and always prominent in Hugoton mat- 
ters. Chamberlain was about eight feet from 
me, or perhaps less, when he raised his rifle 
deliberately to kill me. There were powder 
burns on my neck and face from the shot, as 
the woman who cared for me on the following 
day testified in court. 

"I saw the rifle leveled, and realized that I 



242 The Story of 

was going to be killed. Instinctively, I flinched 
to one side of the line of the rifle. That saved 
my life. The ball entered the left side of my 
neck, about three-quarters of an inch from the 
carotid artery and about half an inch above the 
left clavicle, coming out through the left 
shoulder. I felt no pain at the time, and, in- 
deed, did not feel pain until the next day. The 
shock of the shot knocked me down and numbed 
me, and I suppose I lay a minute or two before 
I recovered sensation or knew anything about 
my condition. It was supposed by all that I 
was killed, and, in a vague way, I agreed that 
I must be killed; that my spirit was simply pres- 
ent listening and seeing. 

*'Eaton had now got out of the wagon, and 
he started to run towards the horses. Robin- 
son and one or two others now turned and pur- 
sued him, and I heard a shot or so. Robinson 
came back and I heard him say, 'I have shot 
the who drew a gun on me !' 

"Then I heard the Hugoton men talking and 
declaring that they must have the fifth man of 
our party, whom they had not yet found. At 
this time, old man Haas and his sons came and 
stood near where I was and saw me looking up. 
The former, seeing that I was not dead, asked 



The Outlaw 243 

me where I had been shot. 'They have shot 
my arm off,' I answered him. At this moment 
I heard the Hugoton men starting toward me, 
and I dropped back and feigned death. Haas 
did not betray me. The Hugoton men now lit 
matches and peered into the faces of their vic- 
tims to see if they were dead. I kept my eyes 
shut when the matches were held to my face, 
and held my breath. 

"They finally found Wilcox, I do not know 
just where, but they stood him up within fifteen 
feet of where I was lying feigning death. They 
asked Wilcox what he had been doing there, 
and he replied that he had just been down on 
the Strip looking around. 

" 'That's a damned lie !' replied Robinson, 
the head executioner. As he spoke, he raised 
his Winchester and fired. Wilcox fell, and as 
he lay he moaned a little bit, as I heard: 

" 'Put the fellow out of his misery,' remarked 
Robinson, carelessly. Some one then appar- 
ently fired a revolver shot and Wilcox became 
silent. 

"Some one came to me, took hold of my foot, 
and began to pull me around to see whether I 
was dead. Robinson wanted it made sure. 
Chamberlain, my executioner, said, 'He's dead; 



244 "^^^ Story of 

I gave him a center shot. I don't need shoot 
a man twice at that distance.' Either Chamber- 
lain or some one else took me by the legs, 
dragged me about, and kicked me in the side, 
leaving bruises which were visible for many 
days afterwards. I feigned death so well that 
they did not shoot me again. They did shoot 
a second time each of the others who lay near 
me. We found seven cartridges on the ground 
near where the killing was done. Eaton was 
shot at a little distance from us, and I do not 
know whether he was shot more than once 
or not. 

^'The haymakers were now in trouble, and 
said that they could not go on putting up their 
hay with the corpses lying around. Robinson 
told them to hitch up and follow the Hugoton 
party away. They did this, and after a while 
I was left lying there in the half-moonlight, 
with the dead bodies of my friends for com- 
pany. 

"After the party had been gone about twenty 
minutes, I found I could get on my feet, 
although I was very weak. At first, I went 
and examined Wilcox, Cross, and Hubbard, 
and found they were quite dead. Their belts 
and guns were gone. Then I went to get my 



The Outlaw 245 

horse. It was hard for me to get Into the sad- 
dle, and It has always seemed to me providential 
that I could do so at all. My horse was very 
wild and difficult to mount under ordinary cir- 
cumstances. Now, It seemed to me that he 
knew my plight. It Is certain that at that time 
and afterwards he was perfectly quiet and gen- 
tle, even when I laboriously tried to get into the 
saddle. 

"At a little distance, there was a buffalo wal- 
low, with some filthy water In It. I led my 
horse here, lay down In the water, and drank 
a little of it. After that I rode about fifteen 
or sixteen miles along a trail, not fully knowing 
where I was going. In the morning, I met 
constable Herman Cann, of Voorhees, who 
had been told by the Haas party of the fore- 
going facts. Of course, we might expect a 
Hugoton 'posse' at any time. As a matter of 
fact, the same crowd who did the killing (fif- 
teen of them, as I afterwards learned) , after 
taking the haymakers back toward the State 
of Kansas, returned on their hunt for one of 
Short's men, who they supposed was still In that 
locality. It was probably not later than one or 
two o'clock in the morning when they found 
me gone. 



246 The Story of 

*'Our butchers now again sat down on the 
ground near the bodies of their victims, and 
they seem to have enjoyed themselves. There 
was talk that some beer bottles were emptied 
and left near the heads of their victims as 
markers, but whether this was deliberately done 
I cannot say. 

''Constable Cann later hid me in the middle 
of a cornfield. This, no doubt, saved my life, 
for the Hugoton scouts were soon down there 
the next morning, having discovered that one 
of the victims had come to life. Woodsdale 
had sent out two wagons with ice to bring in 
the bodies of the dead men, but these Hugoton 
scouts met them and made them ride through 
Hugoton, so that the assembled citizens of that 
town might see the corpses. The county attor- 
ney, William O'Connor, made a speech, de- 
manding that Hugoton march on Woodsdale 
and kill Wood and Ed Short. 

"By this time, of course, all Woodsdale was 
also under arms. My friends gathered from 
all over the countryside, a large body of them, 
heavily armed. Mr. Cann, the constable, had 
tried to take me to Liberal, but I could not 
stand the ride. I was then taken to the house 
of a doctor in the settlement at LaFayette. On 



The Outlaw 



247 



the second night after the massacre I was taken 
to Woodsdale by about twenty of the Woods- 
dale boys, who came after me. We arrived at 
Woodsdale about daybreak next morning. In 
our night trip we could see the skyrocket sig- 
nals used by the Robinson-Cook gang. 

"After my arrival at Woodsdale, it might 
have been supposed that all the country was in 
a state of war, instead of living in a time of 
modern civilization. Entrenchments were 
thrown up, rifle pits were dug, and stands estab- 
lished for sharp-shooters. Guards were thrown 
out all around the town, and mounted scouts 
continued to scour the country. Hugoton, ex- 
pecting that Woodsdale would make an organ- 
ized attack In retaliation, was quite as fully 
fortified In every way. Had there been a de- 
termined leader, the bloodshed would have 
been much greater. Of course, the result of 
this state of hostilities was that the governor 
sent out the militia, and there were Investiga- 
tions, and, later on, arrests and trials. The two 
towns literally fought each other to the death. 

"The murder of Sheriff Cross occurred in 
1888. The militia were withdrawn within 
about thirty days thereafter. Both towns con- 
tinued to break the law — in short, agreed jointly 



248 The Story of 

to break the law. They drew up a stipulation, 
it is said, under which Colonel Wood was to 
have all the charges against the Hugoton men 
dismissed. In return. Wood was to have all 
the charges against him in Hugoton dismissed, 
and was to have safe conduct when he came up 
to court. Not even this compounding of felony 
was kept as a pact between these treacherous 
communities. 

"The trial lagged. Wood was once more 
under bond to appear at Hugoton, before the 
court of his enemy, Judge Botkin, and among 
many other of his Hugoton enemies. On the 
day that Colonel Wood was to go for his trial, 
June 23, 1 89 1, he drove up in a buggy. In 
the vehicle with him were his wife and a Mrs. 
Perry Carpenter. Court was held in the 
Methodist church. At the time of Wood's 
arrival, the docket had been called and a num- 
ber of cases set for trial, including one against 
Wood for arson — there was no crime in the 
calendar of which one town did not accuse the 
other, and, indeed, of which the citizens of 
either were not guilty. 

"Wood left the two ladies sitting in the 
buggy, near the door, and stepped up to the 
clerk's desk to look over some papers. As he 



The Outlaw 



249 



went in, he passed, leaning against the door, 
one Jim Brennan, a deputy of Hugoton, who 
did not seem to notice him. Brennan was a 
friend of C. E. Cook, then under conviction 
for the Hay Meadows massacre. Brennan 
stood talking to Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Carpen- 
ter, smiling and apparently pleasant. Colonel 
Wood turned and came down towards the door, 
again passing close to Brennan but not speak- 
ing to him. He was almost upon the point of 
climbing to his seat In the buggy, when Bren- 
nan, without a word and without any sort of 
warning, drew a revolver and shot him In the 
back. Wood wheeled around, and Brennan 
shot him the second time, through the right side. 
Not a word had been spoken by any one. 
Wood now started to run around the corner of 
the house. His wife, realizing now what was 
happening, sprang from the buggy-seat and fol- 
lowed to protect him. Brennan fired a third 
time, but missed. Mrs. Wood, reaching her 
husband's side, threw her arms around his neck. 
Brennan coming close up, fired a fourth shot, 
this time through Wood's head. The mur- 
dered man fell heavily, literally in his wife's 
arms, and for the moment it was thought both 
were killed. Brennan drew a second revolver. 



250 The Story of 

and so stood over Wood's corpse, refusing to 
surrender to any one but the sheriff of Morton 
county. 

*'The presiding judge at this trial was 
Theodoslus Botkin, a figure of peculiar emi- 
nence in Kansas at that time. Botkin gave 
Brennan into the custody of the sheriff of Mor- 
ton county. He was removed from the county, 
and it need hardly be stated that when he was 
at last brought back for trial it was found im- 
possible to empanel a jury, and he was set free. 
No one was ever punished for this cold-blooded 
murder. 

"Colonel S. N. Wood was an Ohio man, but 
moved to Kansas in the early Free Soil days. 
He was a friend and champion of old John 
Brown and a colonel of volunteers in the civil 
war. He had served in the legislature of Kan- 
sas, and was a good type of the early and ad- 
venturous pioneer. 

**Whether or not suspicion attached to Judge 
Botkin for his conduct in this matter, he him- 
self seems to have feared revenge, for he held 
court with a Winchester at his hand and a brace 
of revolvers on the desk in front of him, his 
court-house always surrounded with an armed 
guard. He offended men in Seward county. 



The Outlaw 251 

and there was a plot made to kill him. A party 
lay in wait along the road to intercept Botkin 
on his journey from his homestead — every one 
in Kansas at that time had a ^claim' — but Bot- 
kin was warned by some friend. He sent out 
Sam Dunn, sheriff of Seward county, to dis- 
cover the truth of the rumor. Dunn went on 
down the trail and, in a rough part of the 
country, was fired upon and killed, instead of 
Botkin. Arrests were made in this matter also, 
but the sham trials resulted much as had that 
of Brennan. The records of these trials may 
be seen In Seward county. It was murder for 
murder, anarchy for anarchy, evasion for eva- 
sion, in this portion of the frontier. Judge Bot- 
kin soon after this resigned his seat upon the 
bench and went to lecturing upon the virtues 
of the Keeley cure. Afterwards he went to the 
legislature — the same legislature which had 
once tried him on charges of impeachment as 
a judge! 

"These events all became known In time, 
and lawlessness proved Its own Inability to en- 
dure. The towns were abandoned. Where In 
1889 there were perhaps 4,000 people, there 
remained not 100. The best of the farms were 
abandoned or sold for taxes, the late InhabI- 



252 The Story of 

tants of the two warring settlements wander- 
ing out over the world. The legislature, hood- 
winked or cajoled heretofore, at length dis- 
organized the county, and anarchy gave back 
its own to the wilderness. 

"I have indicated that the trial of the men 
guilty of assassinating my friends and of at- 
tempting to kill myself in the Hay Meadow 
butchery was one which reached a considerable 
importance at the time. The crimes were com- 
mitted in that strange portion of the country 
called No Man's Land or the Neutral Strip. 
The accused were tried in the United States 
court at Paris, Texas. I myself drew the in- 
dictments against them. There were tried the 
Cooks, Chamberlain, Robinson and others of 
the Hugoton party, and of these six were con- 
victed and sentenced to be hung. These men 
were defended by Colonel George R. Peck, 
later chief counsel of the Chicago, Milwaukee 
& St. Paul Railway. With him were associated 
Judge John F. Dillon, of New York; W. H. 
Rossington, of St. Louis; Senator Manderson, 
of Nebraska ; Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll, and 
others. The Knights of Pythias raised a fund 
to defend the prisoners, and spent perhaps a 
hundred thousand dollars in all in this under- 



The Outlaw 253 

taking. A vast political 'pull' was exercised at 
Topeka and Washington. After the sentence 
had been passed, the case was taken up to the 
United States Supreme Court, on the ground 
that the Texas court had no jurisdiction in the 
premises, and on the further grounds of errors 
in the trial. The United States Supreme 
Court, in 1891, reversed the Texas court, on 
an error on the admission of evidence, and re- 
manded the cases. The men were never put on 
trial again, except that, in 1898, Sam Robin- 
son, meantime pardoned out of the penitentiary 
in Colorado, where he had been sent for rob- 
bing the United States mails at Florissant, Colo- 
rado, returned to Texas, and was arrested on 
the old charge. The men convicted were C. E. 
Cook, Orrin Cook, Cyrus C. Freese, John Law- 
rence and John Jackson. 

"The Illinois legislature petitioned Congress 
to extend United States jurisdiction over No 
Man's Land, and so did the state of Indiana; 
and it was attached to the East District of 
Texas for the purposes of jurisdiction. Con- 
gressman Springer held up this bill for a time, 
using it as a club for the passage of a measure 
of his own upon which he was Intent. Thus, 
it may be seen that the tawdry little tragedy in 



254 The Story of 

that land which indeed was 'No Man's Land' 
in time attained a national prominence. 

"The collecting of the witnesses for this trial 
cost the United States government over one 
hundred thousand dollars. The trial was long 
and bitterly fought. It resulted, as did every 
attempt to convict those concerned in the 
bloody doings of Stevens county, in an abso- 
lute failure of the ends of justice. Of all the 
murders committed in that bitter fighting, not 
one murderer has ever been punished! Never 
was greater political or judicial mockery. 

"I had the singular experience, once in my 
life, of eating dinner at the same table with the 
man who brutally shot me down and left me 
for dead. J. B. Chamberlain, the man who 
shot me, and who thought he had killed me, 
came in with a friend and sat down at the same 
table in a Leavenworth, Kansas, restaurant, 
where I was eating. My opportunity for re- 
venge was there. I did not take it. Chamber- 
lain and his friend did not know who I was. I 
left the matter to the law, with what results 
the records of the law's failure in these matters 
has shown. 

"Of those who were tried for these murders, 
J. B. Chamberlain is now dead. C. E. Cook, 



The Outlaw 255 

who was much alarmed lest the cases might be 
reinstated In the year 1898, claims Quincy, Illi- 
nois, as his home, but has Interests In Florida. 
O. J. Cook Is dead. Jack Lawrence Is dead. 
John Kelley Is dead. Other actors In the 
drama, unconvicted, are also dead or nameless 
wanderers. As the Indictments were all 
quashed in 1898, Sam Robinson, whose where- 
abouts Is unknown, will never be brought to 
trial for his deeds in the Hay Meadow butch- 
ery. He was not tried at Paris, being then In 
the Colorado penitentiary. His friend and 
partner, Bert Nobel, who was sent to the peni- 
tentiary for seven years for participating in the 
postoffice robbery, was pardoned out, and later 
killed a policeman at Trinidad, Colorado. He 
was tried there and hanged. So far as I know, 
this is the only legal punishment ever inflicted 
upon any of the Hugoton or Woodsdale men, 
who outvied each other in a lawlessness for 
which anarchy would be a mild name." 



256 The Story of 



Chapter XVI 

Biographies of Bad Men — Desperadoes of the 
Deserts — Billy the Kid, Jesse Evans, Joel 
Fowler, and Others Skilled in the Art of Gun 
Fighting, ::::::::: 

THE desert regions of the West seemed 
always to breed truculence and touchi- 
ness. Some of the most desperate out- 
laws have been those of western Texas, New 
Mexico, and Arizona. These have sometimes 
been Mexicans, sometimes half-breed Indians, 
very rarely full-blood or half-blood negroes. 
The latter race breeds criminals, but lacks in 
the initiative required In the character of the 
desperado. Texas and the great arid regions 
west of Texas produced rather more than their 
full quota of bad w^hlte men who took naturally 
to the gun. 

By all means the most prominent figure in 
the general fighting along the Southwestern 



The Outlaw 257 

border, which found climax In the Lincoln 
County War, was that historic and somewhat 
romantic character known as Billy the Kid, who 
had more than a score of killings to his credit 
at the time of his death at the age of twenty- 
one. His character may not be chosen as an 
exemplar for youth, but he affords an Instance 
hardly to be surpassed of the typical bad 
man. 

The true name of Billy the Kid was William 
H. Bonney, and he was born in New York 
City, November 23, 1859. His father removed 
to Coffeyvllle, on the border of the Indian Na- 
tions, in 1862, where soon after he died, leaving 
a widow and two sons. Mrs. Bonney again 
moved, this time to Colorado, where she mar- 
ried again, her second husband being named 
Antrim. All the time clinging to what was the 
wild border, these two now moved down to 
Santa Fe, New Mexico, where they remained 
until Billy was eight years of age. In 1868, 
the family made their home at Silver City, New 
Mexico, where they lived until 1871, when 
Billy was twelve years of age. His life until 
then had been one of shifting about. In poverty 
or at best rude comfort. His mother seems to 
have been a wholesome Irishwoman, of no great 



258 The Story of 

education, but of good instincts. Of the boy's 
father nothing is known; and of his stepfather 
little more, except that he was abusive to the 
stepchildren. Antrim survived his wife, who 
died about 1870. The Kid always said that his 
stepfather was the cause of his "getting 
off wrong." 

The Kid was only twelve years old when, 
in a saloon row in which a friend of his was 
being beaten, he killed with a pocket-knife a 
man who had previously insulted him. Some 
say that this was an insult offered to his mother; 
others deny it and say that the man had at- 
tempted to horsewhip Billy. The boy turned 
up with a companion at Fort Bowie, Pima 
county, Arizona, and was around the reserva- 
tion for a while. At last he and his associate, 
who appears to have been as well saturated 
with border doctrine as himself at tender years, 
stole some horses from a band of Apaches, and 
incidentally killed three of the latter in a night 
attack. They made their first step at easy 
living in this enterprise, and, young as they 
were, got means in this way to travel about over 
Arizona. They presently turned up at Tucson, 
where Billy began to employ his precocious 
skill at cards; and where, presently, in the 




BILLY THE KID 

Said to have slain twenty-two men in his short career. Killed when twenty- 
one years old by Sheriff Pat F Garrett 



The Outlaw 



259 



Inevitable gambler's quarrel, he killed another 
man. He fled across the line now Into old 
Mexico, where. In the state of Sonora, h^ set 
up as a youthful gambler. Here he killed a 
gambler, Jose Martinez, over a monte game, 
on an "even break," being the fraction of a 
second the quicker on the draw. He was 
already beginning to show his natural fitness 
as a handler of weapons. He kept up his record 
by appearing next at Chihuahua and robbing a 
few monte dealers there, killing one whom he 
waylaid with a new companion by the name of 
Segura. 

The Kid was now old enough to be danger- 
ous, and his life had been one of irresponsi- 
bility and lawlessness. He was nearly at his 
physical growth at this time, possibly five feet 
seven and a half inches in height, and weighing 
a hundred and thirty-five pounds. He was 
always slight and lean, a hard rider all his life, 
and never old enough to begin to take on flesh. 
His hair was light or light brown, and his eyes 
blue or blue-gray, with curious red hazel spots 
in them. His face was rather long, his chin 
narrow but long, and his front teeth were a 
trifle prominent. He was always a pleasant 
mannered youth, hopeful and buoyant, never 



26o The Story of 

glum or grim, and he nearly always smiled when 
talking. 

The Southwestern border at this time offered 
but few opportunities for making an honest 
living. There were the mines and there were 
the cow ranches. It was natural that the half- 
wild life of the cow punchers would sooner or 
later appeal to the Kid. He and Jesse Evans 
met somewhere along the lower border a party 
of punchers, among whom were Billy Morton 
and Frank Baker, as well as James McDaniels; 
the last named being the man who gave Billy 
his name of "The Kid," which hung to him 
all his life. 

The Kid arrived in the Seven Rivers country 
on foot. In his course east over the mountains 
from Mesllla to the Pecos valley he had been 
mixed up with a companion, Tom O'Keefe, in 
a fight with some more Apaches, of whom the 
Kid is reported to have killed one or more. 
There is no doubt that the Guadalupe moun- 
tains, which he crossed, were at that time a 
dangerous Indian country. That the Kid 
worked for a time for John Chisum, on his 
ranch near Roswell, is well known, as is the 
fact that he cherished a grudge against Chisum 
for years, and was more than once upon the 



The Outlaw 261 

point of killing him for a real or fancied griev- 
ance. He left Chisum and took service with 
J. H. Tunstall on his Feliz ranch late in the 
winter of 1877, animated by what reason we 
may not know. In doing this, he may have 
acted from pique or spite or hatred. There 
was some quarrel between him and his late asso- 
ciates. Tunstall was killed by the Murphy fac- 
tion on February 18, 1878. From that time, 
the path of the Kid is very plain and his acts 
well known and authenticated. He had by this 
time killed several men, certainly at least two 
white men; and how many Mexicans and In- 
dians he had killed by fair means or foul will 
never be really known. His reputation as a 
gun fighter was well established. 

Dick Brewer, Tunstall's foreman, was now 
sworn in as a "special deputy" by McSween, and 
a war of reprisal was now on. The Kid was 
soon in the saddle with Brewer and after his 
former friends, all Murphy allies. There were 
about a dozen in this posse. On March 6, 
1878, these men discovered and captured a band 
of five men, including Frank Baker and Billy 
Morton, both old friends of the Kid, at the 
lower crossing of the Rio Penasco, some six 
miles from the Pecos. The prisoners were kept 



262 The Story of 

over night at Chisum's ranch, and then the 
posse started with them for Lincoln, not taking 
the Hondo-Bonito trail, but one via the Agua 
Negra, on the east side of the Capitans; proof 
enough that something bloody was in contem- 
plation, for that was far from any settlements. 
Apologists of the Kid say that Morton and 
Baker "tried to escape," and that the Kid fol- 
lowed and killed them. The truth in all proba- 
bility is that the party, sullen and bloody-minded, 
rode on, waiting until wrath or whiskey should 
inflame them so as to give resolution for the act 
they all along intended. The Kid, youngest 
but most determined of the band, no doubt did 
the killing of Billy Morton and Frank Baker; 
and in all likelihood there is truth in the asser- 
tion that they were on their knees and begging 
for their lives when he shot them. McClosky 
was killed by McNab, on the principle that dead 
men tell no tales. This killing was on March 
9, 1878. The murder of Sheriff William Brady 
and George Hindman by the Kid and his half- 
dozen companions occurred April i, 1878, and 
It is another act which can have no palliation 
whatever. 

The Kid was now assuming prominence as a 
gun fighter and leader, young as he was. After 



The Outlaw 



263 



the big fight in Lincoln was over, and the Mc- 
Sween house in flames, the Kid was leader of 
the sortie which took him and a few of his 
companions to safety. The list of killings back 
of him was now steadily lengthening, and, in- 
deed, one murder followed another so fast all 
over that country that it was hard to keep track 
of them all. 

The killing of the Indian agency clerk, Bern- 
stein, August 5, 1878, on a horse-stealing expe- 
dition, was the next act of the Kid and his men, 
who thereafter fled northeast, out through the 
Capitan Gap, to certain old haunts around Fort 
Sumner, some ninety miles north of Roswell, 
up the Pecos valley. Here a little band of out- 
laws, led by the Kid, lived for a time as they 
could by stealing horses along the Bonito and 
around the Capitans, and running them off north 
and east. There were in this band at the time 
the Kid, Charlie Bowdre, Doc Skurlock, Wayt, 
Tom OTolliard, Hendry Brown and Jack Mid- 
dleton. Some or all of these were in the march 
with stolen horses which the Kid engineered 
that fall, going as far east as Atacosa, on the 
Canadian, before the stock was all gotten rid 
of. Middleton, Wayt, and Hendry Brown 
there left the Kid's gang, telling him that he 



264 The Story of 

would get killed before long; but the latter 
laughed at them and returned to his old 
grounds, alternating between Lincoln and Fort 
Sumner, and now and then stealing some cows 
from the Chisum herd. 

In January, 1880, the Kid enlarged his list 
of victims by killing, in a very justifiable en- 
counter, a bad man from the Panhandle by the 
name of Grant, who had been loafing around in 
his country, and who, no doubt, intended to kill 
the Kid for the glory of it. The Kid had, a few 
moments before he shot Grant, taken the pre- 
caution to set the hammer of the latter's re- 
volver on an "empty," as he whirled it over in 
examination. They were apparently friends, 
but the Kid knew that Grant was drunk and 
bloodthirsty. He shot Grant twice through the 
throat, as Grant snapped his pistol in his face. 
Nothing was done with the Kid for this, of 
course. 

Birds of a feather now began to appear in 
the neighborhood of Fort Sumner, and the Kid's 
gang was increased by the addition of Tom 
Pickett, and later by Billy Wilson, Dave Ruda- 
baugh. Buck Edwards, and one or two others. 
These men stole cattle now from ranges as far 
east as the Canadian, and sold them to obliging 



The Outlaw 265 

butcher-shops at the new mining camp of White 
Oaks, just coming into prominence; or, again, 
they took cattle from the lower Pecos herds and 
sold them north at Las Vegas; or perhaps they 
stole horses at the Indian reservation and dis- 
tributed them along the Pecos valley. Their 
operations covered a country more than two 
hundred miles across in either direction. They 
had accomplices and friends in nearly every 
little placita of the country. Sometimes they 
gave a man a horse as a present. If he took it, 
it meant that they could depend upon him to 
keep silent. Partly by friendliness and partly 
by terrorizing, their influence was extended until 
they became a power in all that portion of the 
country; and their self-confidence had now 
arisen to the point that they thought none dared 
to molest them, while in general they behaved in 
the high-handed fashion of true border bandits. 
This was the heyday of the Kid's career. 

It was on November 27, 1880, that the Kid 
next added to his list of killings. The men of 
White Oaks, headed by deputy sheriff William 
Hudgens, saloon-keeper of White Oaks, formed 
a posse, after the fashion of the day, and 
started out after the Kid, who had passed all 
bounds in impudence of late. In this posse 



266 The Story of 

were Hudgens and his brother, Johnny Hud- 
gens, Jim Watts, John Mosby, Jim Brent, J. P. 
Langston, Ed. Bonnell, W. G. Dorsey, J. W. 
Bell, J. P. Eaker, Charles Kelly, and Jimmy 
Carlyle. They bayed up the Kid and his gang 
in the Greathouse ranch, forty miles from 
White Oaks, and laid siege, although the 
weather was bitterly cold and the party had not 
supplies or blankets for a long stay. Hudgens 
demanded the surrender of the Kid, and the lat- 
ter said he could not be taken alive. Hudgens 
then sent word for Billy Wilson to come out and 
have a talk. The latter refused, but said he 
would talk with Jimmy Carlyle, if the latter 
would come into the house. Carlyle, against 
the advice of all, took off his pistol belt and 
stepped into the house. He was kept there for 
hours. About two o'clock in the afternoon they 
heard the window glass crash and saw Carlyle 
break through the window and start to run. 
Several shots followed, and Carlyle fell dead, 
the bullets that killed him cutting dust in the 
faces of Hudgens' men, as they lay across the 
road from the house. 

This murder was a nail In the Kid's coffin, 
for Carlyle was well liked at White Oaks. By 
this time the toils began to tighten in all direc- 



The Outlaw 267 

tlons. The United States Government had a 
detective, Azariah F. Wild, in Lincoln county. 
Pat Garrett had now just been elected sheriff, 
and was after the outlaws. Frank Stewart, a 
cattle detective, with a party of several men, 
was also in from the Canadian country looking 
for the Kid and his gang for thefts committed 
over to the east of Lincoln county, across the 
lines of Texas and the Neutral Strip. The Kid 
at this time wrote to Captain J. C. Lea, at 
Roswell, that if the officers would leave him 
alone for a time, until he could get his stuff 
together, he would pull up and leave the coun- 
try, going to old Mexico, but that if he was 
crowded by Garrett or any one else, he surely 
would start in and do some more killing. This 
did not deter Garrett, who, with a posse made 
up of Chambers, Barney Mason, Frank Stew- 
art, Juan Roibal, Lee Halls, Jim East, "Poker 
Tom," "Tenderfoot Bob," and "The Animal," 
with others, all more or less game, or at least 
game enough to go as far as Fort Sumner, at 
length rounded up the Kid, and took him, Billy 
Wilson, Tom Pickett and Dave Rudabaugh; 
Garrett killing O'Folliard and Bowdre. 

Pickett was left at Las Vegas, as there was 
no United States warrant out against him. 



268 The Story of 

Rudabaugh was tried later for robbing the 
United States mails, later tried for killing his 
jailer, and was convicted and sentenced to be 
hung; but once more escaped from the Las 
Vegas jail and got away for good. The Kid 
was not so fortunate. He was tried at Mesilla, 
before Judge Warren H. Bristol, the same man 
whose life he was charged with attempting in 
1879. Judge Bristol appointed Judge Ira E. 
Leonard, of Lincoln, to defend the prisoner, 
and Leonard got him acquitted of the charge 
of killing Bernstein on the reservation. He was 
next tried, at the same term of court, for the 
killing of Sheriff William Brady, and In March, 
188 1, he was convicted under this charge and 
sentenced to be hanged at Lincoln on May 13, 
1 88 1. He was first placed under guard of 
Deputies Bob Ollinger and Dave Woods, and 
taken across the mountains In the custody of 
Sheriff Garrett, who received his prisoner at 
Fort Stanton on April 21. 

Lincoln county was just beginning to emerge 
from savagery. There was no jail worth the 
name, and all the county could claim as a place 
for the house of law and order was the big store 
building lately owned by Murphy, Riley & 
Dolan. It was necessary to keep the Kid under 



The Outlaw 269 

guard for the three weeks or so before his exe- 
cution, and Sheriff Garrett chose as the best 
available material Bob Ollinger and J. W. Bell, 
a good, quiet man from White Oaks, to act as 
the death watch over this dangerous man, who 
seemed now to be nearly at the end of his day. 
Against Bob Ollinger the Kid cherished an 
undying hatred, and longed to kill him. Ollin- 
ger hated him as much, and wanted nothing so 
much as to kill the Kid. He was a friend of 
Bob Beckwith, whom the Kid had killed, and 
the two had always been on the opposite 
sides of the Lincoln county fighting. Ollinger 
taunted the Kid with his deeds, and showed his 
own hatred in every way. There are many 
stories about what now took place in this old 
building at the side of bloody little Lincoln 
street. A common report is that in the evening 
of April 28, 188 1, the Kid was left alone in the 
room with Bell, Ollinger having gone across 
the street for supper; that the Kid slipped his 
hands out of his irons — as he was able to do 
when he liked, his hands being very small — 
struck Bell over the head with his shackles while 
Bell was reading or was looking out of the win- 
dow, later drawing Bell's revolver from its 
scabbard and killing him with it. This story 



270 The Story of 

Is not correct. The truth Is that Bell took the 
Kid, at his request, Into the yard back of the 
jail; returning, the Kid sprang quickly up the 
stairs to the guard-room door, as Bell turned to 
say something to old man Goss, a cook, who 
was standing In the yard. The Kid pushed 
open the door, caught up a revolver from a 
table, and sprang to the head of the stairs just 
as Bell turned the angle and started up. He 
fired at Bell and missed him, the ball striking 
the left-hand side of the staircase. It glanced, 
however, and passed through Bell's body, lodg- 
ing In the wall at the angle of the stair. Bell 
staggered out Into the yard and fell dead. This 
story Is borne out by the reports of Goss and 
the Kid, and by the bullet marks. The place Is 
very familiar to the author, who at about that 
time practiced law In the same building, when 
It was used as the Court House, and who has 
also talked with many men about the circum- 
stances. 

The Kid now sprang Into the next room and 
caught up Olllnger's heavy shotgun, loaded 
with the very shells OlHnger had charged for 
him. He saw OlHnger coming across the street, 
and just as he got below the window at the cor- 
ner of the building the Kid leaned over and 



The Outlaw 



271 



said, coolly and pleasantly, "Hello, old fellow!" 
The next instant he fired and shot Ollinger 
dead. He then walked around through the 
room and out upon the porch, which at that 
time extended the full length of the building, 
and, coming again in view of Ollinger's body, 
took a second deliberate shot at it. Then he 
broke the gun across the railing and threw the 
pieces down on Ollinger's body. "Take that 
to hell with you," he said coolly. Then, seeing 
himself free and once more king of Lincoln 
street, he warned away all who would ap- 
proach, and, with a file which he compelled 
Goss to bring to him, started to file off one of 
his leg irons. He got one free, ordered a by- 
stander to bring him a horse, and at length, 
mounting, rode away for the Capitans, and 
so to a country with which he had long been 
familiar. At Las Tablas he forced a Mexican 
blacksmith to free him of his irons. He sent 
the horse, which belonged to Billy Burt, back 
by some unknown friend the following night. 

He was now again on his native heath, a 
desperado and an outlaw indeed, and obliged to 
fight for his life at every turn; for now he knew 
the country would turn against him, and, as he 
had been captured through information fur- 



272 The Story of 

nished through supposed friends, he knew that 
treachery was what he might expect. He knew 
also that sheriff Garrett would never give him 
up now, and that one or the other of the two 
must die. 

Yet, knowing all these things, the Kid, by 
means of stolen horses, broke back once more 
to his old stamping grounds around Fort Sum- 
ner. Garrett again got on his trail, and as the 
Kid, with Incredible fatuity, still hung around 
his old haunts, he was at length able to close 
with him once more. With his deputies, John 
Poe and Thomas P. McKInney, he located the 
Kid In Sumner, although no one seemed to be 
explicit as to his whereabouts. He went to Pete 
Maxwell's house himself, and there, as his two 
deputies were sitting at the edge of the gallery 
In the moonlight, he killed the Kid at Max- 
well's bedside. 

Billy the Kid had very many actual friends, 
whom he won by his pleasant and cheerful man- 
ners and his liberality, when he had anything 
with which to be liberal, although that was not 
often. He was very popular among the Mexi- 
cans of the Pecos valley. As to the men the 
Kid killed In his short twenty-one years, that 
Is a matter of disagreement. The usual story 









•roiu a paintin.;,>- by Joliii \\\ Xorton 



(i 



THE NEXT INSTANT HE FIRED AND SHOT 
OLLINGER dead" 



The Outlaw 273 

IS twenty-one, and the Kid Is said to have de- 
clared he wanted to kill two more — Bob Ollln- 
ger and " Bonnie" Baca — ^before he died, to 
make it twenty-three in all. Pat Garrett says 
the Kid had killed eleven men. Others say he 
had killed nine. A very few say that the Kid 
never killed any man without full justification 
and In self-defense. They regard the Kid as a 
scapegoat for the sins of others. Indeed, he 
was less fortunate than some others, but his 
deeds brought him his deserts at last, even as 
they left him an enduring reputation as one of 
the most desperate desperadoes ever known In 
the West. 

Central and eastern New Mexico, from i860 
to 1880, probably held more desperate and dan- 
gerous men than any other corner of the West 
ever did. It was a region then more remote 
and less known than Africa Is to-day, and no 
record exists of more than a small portion of 
its deeds of blood. Nowhere In the world was 
human life ever held cheaper, and never was any 
population more lawless. There were no courts 
and no officers, and most of the scattered inhabi- 
tants of that time had come thither to escape 
courts and officers. This environment which 
produced Billy the Kid brought out others 



274 ^'^^ Story of 

scarcely less dangerous, and of a few of these 
there may be made passing mention. 

Joel Fowler was long considered a dangerous 
man. He was a ranch owner and cow man, but 
he came into the settlements often, and nearly 
always for the immediate purpose of getting 
drunk. In the latter condition he was always 
bloodthirsty and quarrelsome, and none could 
tell what or whom he might make the object of 
his attack. He was very insulting and over- 
bearing, very noisy and obnoxious, the sort of 
desperado who makes unarmed men beg and 
compels "tenderfeet" to dance for his amuse- 
ment. His birth and earlier life seem hidden 
by his later career, when, at about middle life, 
he lived in central New Mexico. He was 
accredited with killing about twenty men, but 
there may have been the usual exaggeration 
regarding this. His end came in 1884, at So- 
corro. He was arrested for killing his own 
ranch foreman. Jack Cale, a man who had be- 
friended him and taken care of him in many a 
drunken orgy. He stabbed Cale as they stood 
at the bar in a saloon, and while every one 
thought he was unarmed. The law against 
carrying arms while in the settlements was then 
just beginning to be enforced; and, although it 



The Outlaw 275 

was recognized as necessary for men to go 
armed while journeying across those wild and 
little settled plains, the danger of allowing six- 
shooters and whiskey to operate at the same 
time was generally recognized as well. If a 
man did not lay aside his guns on reaching a 
town, he was apt to be invited to do so by the 
sheriff or town marshal, as Joel had already 
been asked that evening. 

Fowler's victim staggered to the door after 
he was stabbed and fell dead at the street, the 
act being seen by many. The law was allowed 
to take its course, and Fowler was tried and 
sentenced to be hanged. His lawyers took an 
appeal on a technicality and sent the case to 
the supreme court, where a long delay seemed 
inevitable. The jail was so bad that an expen- 
sive guard had to be maintained. At length, 
some of the citizens concluded that to hang 
Fowler was best for all concerned. They took 
him, mounted, to a spot some distance up the 
railroad, and there hanged him. Bill Howard, 
a negro section hand, was permitted by his sec- 
tion boss to make a coffin and bury Fowler, a 
matter which the Committee had neglected; 
and he says that he knows Fowler was buried 
there and left there for several years, near the 



276 The Story of 

railway tracks. The usual story says that Fow- 
ler was hanged to a telegraph pole In town. At 
any rate, he was hanged, and a very wise and 
seemly thing It was. 

Jesse Evans was another bad man of this 
date, a young fellow In his early twenties when 
he first came to the Pecos country, but good 
enough at gun work to make his services desira- 
ble. He was one of the very few men who did 
not fear Billy the Kid. He always said that 
the Kid might beat him with the Winchester, 
but that he feared no man living with the six- 
shooter. Evans came very near meeting an 
Inglorious death. He and the notorious Tom 
Hill once held up an old German In a sheep 
camp near what Is now Alamagordo, New 
Mexico. The old man did not know that they 
were bad men, and while they were looting his 
wagon, looking for the money he had In a box 
under the wagon seat, he slipped up and killed 
Tom Hill with his own gun, which had been 
left resting against a bush near by, nearly shoot- 
ing Hill's spine out. Then he opened fire on 
Jesse, who was close by, shooting him twice, 
through the arm and through the lungs. The 
latter managed to get on his horse, bareback, 
and rode that night, wounded as he was, and 



The Outlaw 277 

partly trailed by the blood from his lungs, sixty 
miles or more to the San Augustine mountains, 
where he holed up at a friendly ranch, later to 
be arrested by Constable Dave Wood, from the 
railway settlements. In default of better juris- 
diction, he was taken to Fort Stanton, where he 
lay In the hospital until he got ready to escape, 
when he seems to have walked away. Evans 
and his brother, who was known as George 
Davis — the latter being the true name of both 
— then went down toward Pecos City and got 
into a fight with some rangers, who killed his 
brother on the spot and captured Jesse, who 
was confined In the Texas penitentiary for 
twenty years. He escaped and was returned; 
yet In the year 1882, when he should have been 
In the Texas prison, he Is said to have been 
seen and recognized on the streets of Lincoln. 
Evans, or Davis, Is said to have been a Tex- 
arkana man, and to have returned to his home 
soon after this, only to find his wife living with 
another man, and supposing her first husband 
dead. He did not tell the new husband of his 
presence, but took away with him his boy, whom 
he found now well grown. It was stated that 
he went to Arizona, and nothing more Is known 
of him. 



278 The Story of 

Tom Hill, the man above mentioned as 
killed by the sheep man, was a typical rough, 
dark, swarthy, low-browed, as loud-mouthed as 
he was Ignorant. He was a braggart, but none 
the less a killer. 

Charlie Bowdre Is supposed to have been a 
Texas boy, as was Tom Hill. Bowdre had a 
little ranch on the Rio Ruldoso, twenty miles or 
so from Lincoln; but few of these restless char- 
acters did much farming. It was easier to steal 
cattle, and to eat beef free If one were hungry. 
Bowdre joined Billy the Kid's gang and turned 
outlaw for a trade. It was all over with his 
chances of settling down after that. He was a 
man who liked to talk of what he could do, and 
a very steady practlcer with the six-shooter, with 
which weapon he was a good shot, or just good 
enough to get himself killed by sheriff Pat 
Garrett. 

Frank Baker, murdered by his former friend, 
Billy the Kid, at Agua Negra, near the Capl- 
tans, was part Cherokee In blood, a well-spoken 
and pleasant man and a good cow hand. He 
was drawn Into this fighting through his work 
for Chlsum as a hired man. Baker was said to 
be connected with a good family In Virginia, 
who looked up the facts of his death. 



The Outlaw 279 

Billy Morton, killed with Baker by the Kid, 
was a similar instance of a young man loving 
the saddle and six-shooter and finally getting 
tangled up with matters outside his proper 
sphere as a cow hand. He had often ridden 
with the Kid on the cow range. He was said 
to have been with the posse that killed Tunstall. 

Hendry Brown was a crack gun fighter, whose 
services were valued in the posse fighting. He 
went to Kansas and long served as marshal of 
Caldwell. He could not stand it to be good, 
and was killed after robbing the bank and kill- 
ing the cashier. 

Johnny Hurley was a brave young man, as 
brave as a Hon. Hurley was acting as deputy 
for sheriff John Poe, together with Jim Brent, 
when the desperado Arragon was holed up in 
an adobe and refused to surrender. The Mexi- 
can shot Hurley as he carelessly crossed an open 
space directly in front of the door. Hurley was 
brown-haired and blue-eyed; a very pleasant 
fellow. 

Andy Boyle, one of the rough and ruthless 
sort of warriors, was an ex-British soldier, a 
drunkard, and a good deal of a ruffian. He 
drank himself to death after a decidedly mixed 
record. 



28o The Story of 

John McKInney had a certain fame from 
the fact that in the fight at the McSween house 
the Kid shot off half his mustache for him at 
close range, when the latter broke out of cover 
and ran. 

The tough buffalo hunter, Bill Campbell, 
who figured largely in bloody deeds in New 
Mexico, was arrested, but escaped from Fort 
Stanton, and was never heard from afterward. 
He came from Texas, but little is known of 
him. His name, as earlier stated, is thought 
to have been Ed. Richardson. 

Captain Joseph C. Lea, the staunch friend 
of Pat Garrett, and the man who first brought 
him forward as a candidate for sheriff of Lin- 
coln county, died February 8, 1904, at Ros- 
well, where he lived for a long time. Lea was 
said to have been a Quantrell man in the Law- 
rence massacre. Much of the population of 
that region had a history that was never writ- 
ten. Lea was a good man and much respected, 
peaceable, courteous and generous. 

One more southwestern bad man found 
Texas congenial after the close of his active 
fighting, and his is a striking story. Billy Wil- 
son was a gentlemanly and good-looking young 
fellow, who ran with Billy the Kid's gang. 



The Outlaw 281 

Wilson was arrested on a United States war- 
rant, charged with passing counterfeit money; 
but he later escaped and disappeared. Several 
years after all these events had happened, and 
after the country had settled down into quiet, 
a certain ex-sheriff of Lincoln county chanced 
to be near Uvalde, Texas, for several months. 
There came to him without invitation, a former 
merchant of White Oaks, New Mexico, who 
told the officer that Billy Wilson, under an- 
other name, was living below Uvalde, towards 
the Mexican frontier. He stated that Wilson 
had been a cow hand, a ranch foreman and cow 
man, was now doing well, had resigned all his 
bad habits, and was a good citizen. He stated 
that Wilson had heard of the officer's presence 
and asked whether the latter would not forego 
following up a reformed man on the old charges 
of another and different day. The officer re- 
plied at once that if Wilson was indeed leading a 
right life, and did not intend to go bad again, he 
would not only leave him alone, but would en- 
deavor to secure for him a pardon from the 
president of the United States. Less than six 
months from that time, this pardon, signed by 
President Grover Cleveland, was In the posses- 
sion of this officer. In his office In a Rio Grande 



282 The Story of 

town of New Mexico. A telegram was sent to 
Billy Wilson, and he was brave man enough to 
come and take his chances. The officer, with- 
out much speech, went over to his safe, took 
out the signed pardon from the president, and 
handed it to Wilson. The latter trembled and 
broke into tears as he took the paper. *'If 
you ever need my life," said he, "count on me. 
And I'll never go back on this!" as he touched 
the executive pardon. He went back to Texas, 
and Is living there to-day, a good citizen. It 
would be wrong to mention names in an inci- 
dent like this. 

Tom O'Folliard was another noted charac- 
ter. He was something of a gun expert, in his 
own belief, at least. He was a man of medium 
height and dark complexion, and of no very 
great amount of mental capacity. He came 
into the lower range from somewhere east, 
probably from Texas, and little is known of 
him except that he was In some fighting, and 
that he is buried at Sumner with Bowdre and 
the Kid. He got away with one or two bluffs 
and encounters, and came to think that he was 
as good as the best of men, or rather as bad as 
the worst; for he was one of those who wanted 
a reputation as a bad man. 

Tom Pickett was another not far from the 



The Outlaw 283 

O'Folliard class, ambitious to be thought wild 
and woolly and hard to curry; which he was 
not, when it came to the real currying, as 
events proved. He was a very pretty handler 
of a gun, and took pride in his skill with it. He 
seems to have behaved well after the arrest of 
the Kid's gang near Sumner, and is not known 
in connection with any further criminal acts, 
though he still for a long time wore two guns 
in the settlements. Once a well-known sheriff 
happened, by mere chance, to be in his town, 
not knowing Pickett was there. The latter 
literally took to the woods, thinking something 
was on foot In which he was concerned. Be- 
ing reminded that he had lost an opportunity ^^ 
to show how bad he was he explained: "I don't -^^^^^ 
want anything to do with that long-legs." "^ 
Pickett, no doubt, settled down and became a 
useful man. Indeed, although It seems a 
strange thing to say. It Is the truth that much 
of the old wildness of that border was a matter 
of general custom, one might also say of habit. 
The surroundings were wild, and men got to 
running wild. When times changed, some of 
them also changed, and frequently showed that 
after all they could settle down to work and 
lead decent Hves. Lawlessness is sometimes less 
a matter of temperament than of surroundings. 



284 The Story of 



Chapter XVII 

The Fight of Buckshot Roberts — Encounter 
Between a Crippled Ex-Soldier and the Band 
of Billy the Kid — One Man Against Thirteen. 

NEXT to the fight of Wild Bill with 
the McCandlas gang, the fight of 
Buckshot Roberts at Blazer's Mill, 
on the Mescalero Indian reservation, Is per- 
haps the most remarkable combat of one man 
against odds ever known In the West. The 
latter affair Is little known, but deserves Its 
record. 

Buckshot Roberts was one of those men who 
appeared on the frontier and gave little his- 
tory of their own past. He came West from 
Texas, but It Is thought that he was born far- 
ther east than the Lone Star state. He was 
long In the United States army, where he 
reached the rank of sergeant before his dis- 
charge; after which he lingered on the frontier, 



The Outlaw 285 

as did very many soldiers of that day. He was 
at one time a member of the famous Texas 
rangers, and had reputation as an Indian fighter. 
He had been badly shot by the Comanches. 
Again, he was on the other side, against the 
rangers, and once stood off twenty-five of them, 
although nearly killed in this encounter. From 
these wounds he was so badly crippled in his 
right arm that he could not lift a rifle to his 
shoulder. He was usually known as "Buck- 
shot" Roberts because of the nature of his 
wounds. 

Roberts took up a little ranch in the beautiful 
Ruidoso valley of central New Mexico, one 
of the most charming spots in the world; and 
all he asked was to be let alone, for he seemed 
able to get along, and not afraid of work. 
When the Lincoln County War broke out, he 
was recognized as a friend of Major Murphy, 
one of the local faction leaders; but when the 
fighting men curtly told him it was about time 
for him to choose his side, he as curtly replied 
that he intended to take neither side; that he 
had seen fighting enough in his time, and would 
fight no man's battle for him. This for the 
time and place was treason, and punishable with 
death. Roberts' friends told him that Billy 



286 The Story of 

the Kid and Dick Brewer Intended to kill him, 
and advised him to leave the country. 

It IS said that Roberts had closed out his 
affairs and was preparing to leave the country, 
when he heard that the gang was looking for 
him, and that he then gave them opportunity 
to find him. Others say that he went up to 
Blazer's Mill to meet there a friend of his by 
the name of Kitts, who, he heard, had been shot 
and badly wounded. There is other rumor that 
he went up to Blazer's Mill to have a personal 
encounter with Major Godfroy, with whom 
there had been some altercation. There is a 
further absurd story that he went for the pur- 
pose of killing Billy the Kid, and getting the 
reward which was offered for him. These lat- 
ter things are unlikely. The probable truth is 
that he, being a brave man, though fully de- 
termined to leave the country, simply found it 
written in his creed to go up to Blazer's Mill 
to see his supposedly wounded friend, and also 
to see what there was in the threats which he 
had heard. 

There are living three eye-witnesses of what 
happened at that time: Frank and George Coe, 
ranchers on the Ruidoso to-day, and Johnnie 
Patten, cook on Carrizzo ranch. Patten was an 



The Outlaw 287 

ex-soldier of H Troop, Third Cavalry, and was 
mustered out at Fort Stanton in 1869. At the 
time of the Roberts fight, he was running the 
sawmill for Dr. Blazer. Frank Coe says that 
he himself was attempting to act as peacemaker, 
and that he tried to get Roberts to give up his 
arms and not make any fight. Patten says that 
he himself, at the peril of his life, had warned 
Roberts that Dick Brewer, the Kid, and his 
gang intended to kill him. It is certain that 
when Roberts came riding up on a mule, still 
wet from the fording of the Tularosa river, he 
met there Dick Brewer, Billy the Kid, George 
Coe, Frank Coe, Charlie Bowdre, Doc Middle- 
ton, one Scroggins, and Dirty Steve (Stephen 
Stevens) , with others, to the number of thirteen 
in all. These men still claimed to be a posse, 
and were under Dick Brewer, "special con- 
stable.'' 

The Brewer party withdrew to the rear of 
the house. Frank Coe parleyed with Roberts 
at one side. Kate Godfroy, daughter of Major 
Godfroy, protested at what she knew was the 
purpose of Brewer and his gang. Dick Brewer 
said to his men, "Don't do anything to him 
now. Coax him up the road a way." 

Roberts declined to give up his weapons to 



288 The Story of 

Frank Coe. He stood near the door, outside 
the house. Then, as it is told by Johnnie Pat- 
ten, who saw it all, there suddenly came around 
upon him from behind the house the gang of the 
Kid, all gun fighters, each opening fire as he 
came. The gritty little man gave back not a 
step toward the open door. Crippled by his old 
wounds so that he could not raise his rifle to his 
shoulder, he worked the lever from his hip. 
Here were a dozen men, the best fighting men 
of all that wild country, shooting at him at a 
distance of not a dozen feet; yet he shot Jack 
MIddleton through the lungs, though failing to 
kill him. He shot a finger off the hand of George 
Coe, who then left the fight. Roberts then half 
stepped forward and pushed his gun against 
the stomach of Billy the Kid. For some reason 
the piece failed to fire, and the Kid was saved 
by the narrowest escape he ever had In his life. 
Charlie Bowdre now appeared around the cor- 
ner of the house, and Roberts fired at him next. 
His bullet struck Bowdre in the belt, and cut 
the belt off from him. Almost at the same time, 
Bowdre fired at him and shot him through the 
body. He did not drop, but staggered back 
against the wall ; and so he stood there, crippled 
of old and now wounded to death, but so fierce 



The Outlaw 289 

a human tiger that his very looks struck dismay 
into this gang of professional fighters. They 
actually withdrew around the house and left 
him there ! 

Each claimed the credit for having shot the 
victim. "No," said Charlie Bowdre, "I shot 
him myself. I dusted him on both sides. I 
saw the dust fly out on both sides of his coat, 
where my bullet went clean through him." 
They argued, but they did not go around the 
house again. 

Roberts now staggered back into the house. 
He threw down his own Winchester and picked 
up a heavy Sharps' rifle which belonged to Dr. 
Appel, and which he found there, in Dr. 
Blazer's room. Brewer told Dr. Blazer to 
bring Roberts out, but, like a man, Blazer 
refused. Roberts pulled a mattress off the bed 
to the floor and threw himself down upon It 
near an open window in the front of the house. 
The gang had scattered, surrounding the house. 
Dick Brewer had taken refuge behind a thirty- 
inch sawlog near the mill, just one hundred and 
forty steps from the window near which this 
fierce little fighting man was lying, wounded 
to death. Brewer raised his head just above the 
top of the sawlog, so that he could see what 



290 The Story of 

Roberts was doing. His eyes were barely visi- 
ble above the top of the log, yet at that distance 
the heavy bullet from Roberts' buffalo gun 
struck him in the eye and blew off the top of his 
head. 

Billy the Kid was now leader of the posse. 
His first act was to call his men together and 
ride away from the spot, his whole outfit 
whipped by a single man ! There was a corpse 
behind them, and wounded men with them. 

Thirty-six hours later there was another 
corpse at Blazer's Mill. The doctor, brought 
over from Fort Stanton, could do nothing for 
Roberts, and he died in agony. Johnnie Patten, 
sawyer and rough carpenter, made one big cof- 
fin, and in this the two. Brewer and Roberts, 
were buried side by side. "I couldn't make a 
very good coffin," says Patten, "so I built it in 
the shape of a big V, with no end piece at the 
foot. We just put them both in together." 
And there they lie to-day, grim grave-company, 
according to the report of this eye-witness, who 
would seem to be in a position indicating accu- 
racy. Emil Blazer, a son of Dr. Blazer, still 
lives on the site of this fierce little battle, and he 
says that the two dead men were buried sepa- 
rately, but side by side, Brewer to the right of 



The Outlaw 291 

Roberts. The little graveyard holds a few 
other graves, none with headboards or records, 
and grass now grows above them all. 

The building where Roberts stood at bay is 
now gone, and another adobe is erected a little 
farther back from the raceway that once fed 
the old mountain sawmill, but which now is 
not used as of yore. The old flume still exists 
where the water ran over onto the wheel, and 
the site of the old mill, which is now also torn 
down, is easily traceable. When the author 
visited the spot in the fall of 1905, all these 
points were verified and the distances measured. 
It was a long shot that Roberts made, and down 
hill. The vitality of the man who made it, his 
courage, and his tenacity alike of life and of 
purpose against such odds make Roberts a man 
remembered with admiration even to-day in 
that once bloody region. 



292 The Story of 



Chapter XVIII 

The Man Hunt — The Western Peace Officer ^ 
a Quiet Citizen Who Works for a Salary and 
Risks His Life — The Trade of Man Hunting 
— Biography of Pat Garrett, a Typical Fron- 
tier Sheriff. :::::::: 

THE deeds of the Western sheriff have 
for the most part gone unchronicled, 
or have luridly been set forth In fic- 
tion as incidents of blood, Interesting only be- 
cause of their bloodiness. The frontier officer 
himself, usually not a man to boast of his own 
acts, has quietly stepped Into the background 
of the past, and has been replaced by others 
who more loudly proclaim their prominence In 
the advancement of civilization. Yet the typi- 
cal frontier sheriff, the good man who went 
after bad men, and made It safe for men to live 
and own property and to establish homes and to 
build up a society and a country and a govern- 



The Outlaw 



293 



ment, Is a historical character of great Interest. 
Among very many good ones, we shall perhaps 
best get at the type of all by giving the story 
of one; and we shall also learn something of 
the dangerous business of man hunting In a 
region filled with men who must be hunted 
down. 

Patrick Floyd Garrett, better known as Pat 
Garrett, was a Southerner by birth. He was 
born In Chambers county, Alabama, June 5, 
1850. In 1856, his parents moved to Clai- 
borne parish, Louisiana, where his father was 
a large landowner, and of course at that time 
and place, a slave owner, and among the bitter 
opponents of the new regime which followed 
the civil war. When young Garrett's father 
died, the large estates dwindled under bad man- 
agement; and when within a short time the 
mother followed her husband to the grave, the 
family resources, affected by the war, became 
Involved, although the two Garrett plantations 
embraced nearly three thousand acres of rich 
Louisiana soil. On January 25, 1869, Pat Gar- 
rett, a tall and slender youth of eighteen, set 
out to seek his fortunes In the wild West, with 
no resources but such as lay in his brains and 
body. 



294 ^'^^ Story of 

He went to Lancaster, In Dallas county, 
Texas. A big ranch owner In southern Texas 
wanted men, and Pat Garrett packed up and 
went home with him. The world was new to 
him, however, and he went off with the north- 
bound cows, like many another youngster of 
the time. His herd was made up at Eagle 
Lake, and he only accompanied the drive as 
far north as Denlson. There he began to get 
uneasy, hearing of the delights of the still 
wilder life of the buffalo hunters on the great 
plains which lay to the west, in the Panhandle 
of Texas. For three winters, 1875 to 1877, 
he was In and out between the buffalo range and 
the settlements, by this time well wedded to 
frontier life. 

In the fall of 1877, he went West once more, 
and this time kept on going west. With two 
hardy companions, he pushed on entirely across 
the wild and unknown Panhandle country, leav- 
ing the wagons near what was known as the 
"Yellow Houses," and never returning to them. 
His blankets, personal belongings, etc., he never 
saw again. He and his friends had their heavy 
Sharps' rifles, plenty of powder and lead, and 
their reloading tools, and they had nothing else. 
Their beds they made of their saddle blankets, 




PAT F. GARRETT 

The most famous peace officer of the Southwest 



The Outlaw 295 

and their food they killed from the wild herds. 
For their love of adventure, they rode on across 
an unknown country, until finally they arrived 
at the little Mexican settlement of Fort Sumner, 
on the Pecos river, in the month of February, 
1878. 

Pat and his friends were hungry, but all the 
cash they could find was just one dollar and a 
half between them. They gave it to Pat and 
sent him over to the store to see about eating. 
He asked the price of meals, and they told him 
fifty cents per meal. They would permit them 
to eat but once. He concluded to buy a dollar 
and a half's worth of flour and bacon, which 
would last for two or three meals. He joined 
his friends, and they went into camp on the 
river bank, where they cooked and ate, per- 
fectly happy and quite careless about the future. 

As they finished their breakfast, they saw 
up the river the dust of a cattle herd, and noted 
that a party were working a herd, cutting out 
cattle for some purpose or other. 

"Go up there and get a job," said Pat to 
one of the boys. The latter did go up, but 
came back reporting that the boss did not want 
any help. 

"Well, he's got to have help," said Pat. So 



296 The Story of 

saying, he arose and started up stream him- 
self. 

Garrett was at that time, as has been said, 
of very great height, six feet four and one-half 
inches, and very slender. Unable to get 
trousers long enough for his legs, he had pieced 
down his best pair with about three feet of 
buffalo leggins with the hair out. Gaunt, dusty, 
and unshaven, he looked hard, and when he 
approached the herd owner and asked for work, 
the other was as much alarmed as pleased. He 
declined again, but Pat firmly told him he had 
come to go to work, and was sorry, but it could 
not be helped. Something in the quiet voice 
of Garrett seemed to arrest the attention of the 
cow man. "What can you do. Lengthy?" he 
asked. 

"Ride anything with hair, and rope better 
than any man youVe got here," answered Gar- 
rett, casting a critical glance at the other men. 

The cow man hesitated a moment and then 
said, "Get in." Pat got in. He stayed in. 
Two years later he was still at Fort Sumner, 
and married. 

Garrett moved down from Fort Sumner soon 
after his marriage, and settled a mile east of 
what is now the flourishing city of Roswell, at 



The Outlaw 297 

a spring on the bank of the Hondo, and In the 
middle of what was then the virgin plains. 
Here he picked up land, until he had in all 
more than twelve hundred and fifty acres. If 
he owned it now, he would be worth a half 
million dollars. 

He was not, however, to live the steady life 
of the frontier farmer. His friend. Captain 
J. C. Lea, of Roswell, came to him and asked 
if he would run as sheriff of Lincoln county. 
Garrett consented and was elected. He was 
warned not to take this office, and word was 
sent to him by the bands of hard-riding out- 
laws of that region that if he attempted to 
serve any processes on them he would be killed. 
He paid no attention to this, and, as he was 
still an unknown quantity in the country, which 
was new and thinly settled, he seemed sure to 
be killed. He won the absolute confidence of 
the governor, who told him to go ahead, not to 
stand on technicalities, but to break up the 
gang that had been rendering life and property 
unsafe for years and making the territory a 
mockery of civilization. If the truth were 
known, it might perhaps be found that some- 
times Garrett arrested a bad man and got his 
warrant for it later, when he went to the settle- 



298 The Story of 

ments. He found a straight six-shooter the 
best sort of warrant, and in effect he took the 
matter of establishing a government in south- 
western New Mexico in his own hands, and did 
It In his own way. He was the whole machin- 
ery of the law. Sometimes he boarded his pris- 
oners out of his own pocket. He himself was 
the state! His word was good, even to the 
worst cutthroat that ever he captured. Often 
he had In his care prisoners whom, under the 
law, he could not legally have held, had they 
been demanded of him; but he held them in 
spite of any demand; and the worst prisoner 
on that border knew that he was safe in Pat 
Garrett's hands, no matter what happened, and 
that If Pat said he would take him through to 
any given point, he would take him through. 

After he had finished his first season of work 
as sheriff and as United States marshal, Gar- 
rett ranched it for a time. In 1884, his reputa- 
tion as a criminal-taker being now a wide one, 
he organized and took charge of a company of 
Texas rangers in Wheeler county, Texas, and 
made Atacosa and thereabouts headquarters for 
a year and a half. So great became his fame 
now as a man-taker that he was employed to 
manage the affairs of a cattle detective agency; 



The Outlaw 299 

it being now so far along In civilization that 
men were beginning to be careful about their 
cows. He was offered ten thousand dollars to 
break up a certain band of raiders working in 
upper Texas, and he did It; but he found that 
he was really being paid to kill one or two men, 
and not to capture them; and, being unwilling 
to act as the agent of any man's revenge, he 
quit this work and went Into the employment of 
the "V" ranch In the White mountains. He 
then moved down to Roswell again, in the 
spring of 1887. Here he organized the 
Pecos Valley Irrigation Company. He was 
the first man to suspect the presence of 
artesian water in this country, where the great 
Spring rivers push up from the ground; and 
through his efforts wells were bored which revo- 
lutionized all that valley. He ran for sheriff 
of Chaves county, and was defeated. Angry 
at his first reverse In politics, he pulled up at 
Roswell, and sacrificed his land for what he 
could get for It. To-day It Is covered with 
crops and fruits and worth sixty to one hundred 
dollars an acre. 

Garrett now went back to Texas, and settled 
near Uvalde, where he engaged once more In 
an Irrigation enterprise. He was here five 



300 The Story of 

years, ranching and losing money. W. T. 
Thornton, the governor of New Mexico, sent 
for him and asked him if he would take the 
office of sheriff of Donna Ana county, to fill the 
unexpired term of Numa Raymond. He was 
elected to serve two subsequent terms as sheriff 
of Donna Ana county, and no frontier officer 
has a better record for bravery. 

In the month of December, 1901, President 
Theodore Roosevelt, who had heard of Gar- 
rett, met him and liked him, and without any 
ado or consultation appointed him collector of 
customs at El Paso, Texas. Here for the next 
four years Garrett made a popular collector, 
and an honest and fearless one. 

The main reputation gained by Garrett was 
through his killing the desperado, Billy the Kid. 
It is proper to set down here the chronicle of 
that undertaking, because that will best serve 
to show the manner in which a frontier sheriff 
gets a bad man. 

When the Kid and his gang killed the 
agency clerk, Bernstein, on the Mescalero res- 
ervation, they committed a murder on United 
States government ground and an offense 
against the United States law. A United States 
warrant was placed in the hands of Pat Garrett, 



The Outlaw 301 



then deputy United States marshal and sheriff- 
elect, and he took up the trail, locating the men 
near Fort Sumner, at the ranch of one Brazil, 
about nine miles east of the settlement. With 
the Kid were Charlie Bowdre, Tom O'Folliard, 
Tom Pickett and Dave Rudabaugh, fellows of 
like kidney. Rudabaugh had just broken jail 
at Las Vegas, and had killed his jailer. Not a 
man of the band had ever hesitated at murder. 
They were now eager to kill Garrett and kept 
watch, as best they could, on all his move- 
ments. 

One day Garrett and some of his improvised 
posse were riding eastward of the town when 
they jumped Tom O'Folliard, who was 
mounted on a horse that proved too good for 
them in a chase of several miles. Garrett at 
last was left alone following O'Folliard, and 
fired at him twice. The latter later admitted 
that he fired twenty times at Garrett with his 
Winchester; but it was hard to do good shoot- 
ing from the saddle at two or three hundred 
yards range, so neither man was hit. O'Fol- 
liard did not learn his lesson. A few nights 
later. In company with Tom Pickett, he rode 
Into town. Warned of his approach, Garrett 
with another man was waiting, hidden In the 



302 The Story of 

shadow of a building. As O'FollIard rode up, 
he was ordered to throw up his hands, but went 
after his gun instead, and on the instant Garrett 
shot him through the body. ''You never heard 
a man scream the way he did," said Garrett. 
"He dropped his gun when he was hit, but we 
did not know that, and as we ran up to catch his 
horse, we ordered him again to throw up his 
hands. He said he couldn't, that he was killed. 
We helped him down then, and took him in the 
house. He died about forty-five minutes later. 
He said it was all his own fault, and that he 
didn't blame anybody. I'd have killed Tom 
Pickett right there, too," concluded Garrett, 
"but one of my men shot right past my face 
and blinded me for the moment, so Pickett got 
away." 

The remainder of the Kid's gang were now 
located in the stone house above mentioned, 
and their whereabouts reported by the ranch- 
man whose house they had just vacated. The 
man hunt therefore proceeded methodically, and 
Garrett and his men, of whom he had only two 
or three upon whom he relied as thoroughly 
game, surrounded the house just before dawn. 
Garrett, with Jim East and Tom Emory, crept 
up to the head of the ravine which made up 




liuiii a paiutiut; by juliu \\\ Xurton 



A TYPICAL WESTERN MAN HUNT 

Pat F. Garrett chasing Tom O'Folliard 



The Outlaw 303 

to the ridge on which the fortress of the out- 
laws stood. The early morning Is always the 
best time for a surprise of this sort. It was 
Charlie Bowdre who first came out In the morn- 
ing, and as he stepped out of the door his career 
as a bad man ended. Three bullets passed 
through his body. He stepped back into the 
house, but only lived about twenty minutes. 
The Kid said to him, "Charlie, you're killed 
anyhow. Take your gun and go out and kill 

that long-legged before you die." He 

pulled Bowdre's pistol around In front of him 
and pushed him out of the door. Bowdre 
staggered feebly toward the spot where the 

sheriff was lying. "I wish — I wish " he 

began, and motioned toward the house; but 
he could not tell what It was that he wished. 
He died on Garrett's blankets, which were laid 
down on the snow. 

Previous to this Garrett had killed one horse 
at the door beam where it was tied, and with a 
remarkable shot had cut the other free, shoot- 
ing off the rope that held It. These two shots 
he thought about the best he ever made; and 
this Is saying much, for he was a phenomenal 
shot with rifle or revolver. There were two 
horses inside, but the dead horse blocked the 



304 The Story of 

door. Pickett now told the gang to surrender. 
"That fellow will kill every man that shows out- 
side that door," said he, "that's all about it. 
He's killed O'Folliard, and he's killed Charlie, 
and he'll kill us. Let's surrender and take a 
chance at getting out again." They listened to 
this, for the shooting they had seen had pretty 
well broken their hearts. 

Garrett now sent over to the ranch house 
for food for his men, and the cooking was too 
much for the hungry outlaws, who had had 
nothing to eat. They put up a dirty white rag 
on a gun barrel and offered to give up. One by 
one, they came out and were disarmed. That 
night was spent at the Brazil ranch, the pris- 
oners under guard and the body of Charlie 
Bowdre, rolled in its blankets, outside In the 
wagon. The next morning, Bowdre was buried 
in the little cemetery next to Tom O'Folliard. 
The Kid did not know that he was to make the 
next in the row. 

These men surrendered on condition that 
they should all be taken through to Santa Fe, 
and Garrett, at the risk of his life, took them 
through Las Vegas, where Rudabaugh was 
wanted. Half the town surrounded the train 
in the depot yards. Garrett told the Kid that 



The Outlaw 305 

If the mob rushed In the door of the car he 
would toss back a six-shooter to him and ask 
him to help fight. 

"All right, Pat," said the Kid, cheerfully. 
"You and I can whip the whole gang of them, 
and after weVe done it I'll go back to my seat 
and you can put the Irons on again. YouVe 
kept your word." There Is little doubt that 
he would have done this, but as it chanced there 
was no need, since at the last moment deputy 
Malloy, of Las Vegas, jumped on the engine 
and pulled the train out of the yard. 

Billy the Kid was tried and condemned to be 
executed. He had been promised pardon by 
Governor Lew Wallace, but the pardon did not 
come. A few days before the day set for his 
execution, the Kid, as elsewhere described, 
killed the two deputies who were guarding him, 
and got back once more to his old stamping 
grounds around Fort Sumner. 

"I knew now that I would have to kill the 
Kid," said Garrett to the writer, speaking remi- 
niscently of the bloody scenes as we lately vis- 
ited that country together. "We both knew 
that it must be one or the other of us If we ever 
met. I followed him up here to Sumner, as 
you know, with two deputies, John Poe and 



306 The Story of 

'Tip' McKInney, and I killed him in a room 
up there at the edge of the old cottonwood 
avenue." 

He spoke of events now long gone by. It 
had been only with difficulty that we located 
the site of the building where the Kid's gang 
had been taken prisoners. The structure itself 
had been torn down and removed. As to the 
old military post, once a famous one, It offered 
now nothing better than a scene of desolation. 
There was no longer a single human inhabitant 
there. The old avenue of cottonwoods, once 
four miles long, was now ragged and un- 
watered, and the great parade ground had gone 
back to sand and sage brush. We were obliged 
to search for some time before we could find the 
site of the old Maxwell house, In which was 
ended a long and dangerous man hunt of the 
frontier. Garrett finally located the place, now 
only a rough quadrangle of crumbled earthen 
walls. 

''This is the place," said he, pointing to one 
corner of the grass-grown oblong. "Pete Max- 
well's bed was right In this corner of the room, 
and I was sitting in the dark and talking to 
Pete, who was In bed. The Kid passed Poe 
and McKInney right over there, on what was 



The Outlaw 307 

then the gallery, and came through the door 
right here." 

We paused for a time and looked with a 
certain gravity at this wind-swept, desolate spot, 
around which lay the wide, unwinking desert. 
About us were the ruins of what had been a 
notable settlement in its day, but which now 
had passed with the old frontier. 

"I got word of the Kid up here in much the 
way I had once before," resumed Garrett at 
length, "and I followed him, resolved to get 
him or to have him get me. We rode over into 
the edge of the town and learned that the Kid 
was there, but of course we did not know which 
house he was in. Poe went in to inquire around, 
as he was not known there like myself. He did 
not know the Kid when he saw him, nor did the 
Kid know him. 

"It was a glorious moonlight night; I can 
remember it perfectly well. Poe and McKin- 
ney and I all met a little way out from the 
edge of the place. We decided that the Kid 
was not far away. We went down to the 
houses, and I put Poe and McKinney outside 
of Pete Maxwell's house and I went inside. 
Right here was the door. We did not know 
it at that time, but just about then the Kid was 



308 The Story of 

lying with his boots off In the house of an old 
Mexican just across there, not very far away 
from Maxwell's door. He told the Mexican, 
when he came In, to cook something for him to 
eat. Maxwell had killed a beef not long be- 
fore, and there was a quarter hanging up under 
the porch out In front. After a while, the Kid 
got up, got a butcher knife from the old Mexi- 
can, and concluded to go over and cut himself 
off a piece of meat from the quarter at Max- 
well's house. This Is how the story arose that 
he came Into the house with his boots In his 
hand to keep an appointment with a Mexican 
girl. 

"The usual story is that I was down close 
to the wall behind Maxwell's bed. This was 
not the case, for the bed was close against 
the wall. Pete Maxwell was lying in bed, right 
here in this corner, as I said. I was sitting in 
a chair and leaning over toward him, as I 
talked in a low tone. My right side was toward 
him, and my revolver was on that side. I did 
not know that the Kid was so close at hand, or, 
indeed, know for sure that he was there in the 
settlement at all. 

"Maxwell did not want to talk very much. 
He knew the Kid was there, and knew his own 



The Outlaw 309 

danger. I was talking to him in Spanish, in a 
low tone of voice, as I say, when the Kid came 
over here, just as I have told you. He saw 
Poe and McKinney sitting right out there in 
the moonlight, but did not suspect anything. 
'Quien esf — 'Who is it?' — he asked, as he 
passed them. I heard him speak and saw him 
come backing into the room, facing toward Poe 
and McKinney. He could not see me, as it 
was dark in the room, but he came up to the 
bed where Maxwell was lying and where I was 
sitting. He seemed to think something might 
not be quite right. He had in his hand his 
revolver, a self-cocking .41. He could not see 
my face, and he had not heard my voice, or he 
would have known me. 

"The Kid stepped up to the bedside and laid 
his left hand on the bed and bent over Max- 
well. He saw me sitting there in the half dark- 
ness, but did not recognize me, as I was sitting 
down. My height would have betrayed me had 
I been standing. 'Pete, Quien esf he asked 
in a low tone of voice; and he half motioned 
toward me with his six-shooter. That was 
when I looked across into eternity. It wasn't 
far to go. 

"That was exactly how the thing was. I 



3IO The Story of 

gave neither Maxwell nor the Kid time for any- 
thing farther. There flashed over my mind 
at once one thought, and it was that I had 
to shoot and shoot at once, and that my shot 
must go to the mark the first time. I knew 
the Kid would kill me in a flash if I did not 
kill him. 

"Just as he spoke and motioned toward me, 
I dropped over to the left and rather down, 
going after my gun with my right hand as I 
did so. As I fired, the Kid dropped back. I 
had caught him just about the heart. His pis- 
tol, already pointed toward me, went off as he 
fell, but he fired high. As I sprang up, I fired 
once more, but did not hit him, and did not 
need to, for he was dead. 

"I don't know that he ever knew who it was 
that killed him. He could not see me in the 
darkness. He may have seen me stoop over 
and pull. If he had had the least suspicion who 
it was, he would have shot as soon as he saw 
me. When he came to the bed, I knew who he 
was. The rest happened as I have told you. 
There is no other story about the killing of 
Billy the Kid which is the truth. It is also un- 
true that his body was ever removed from Fort 
Sumner. It lies there to-day, and I'll show you 



The Outlaw 311 

where we buried him. I laid him out myself, 
In this house here, and I ought to know." 

Twenty-five years of time had done their 
work In all that country, as we learned when we 
entered the little barbed-wire enclosure of the 
cemetery where the Kid and his fellows were 
burled. There are no headstones In this ceme- 
tery, and no sacristan holds Its records. Again 
Garrett had to search In the salt grass and 
greasewood. "Here is the place," said he, at 
length. "We burled them all in a row. The 
first grave Is the Kid's, and next to him is 
Bowdre, and then O'FollIard." 

Here was the sole remaining record of the 
man hunt's end. So passes the glory of the 
world! In this desolate resting-place, in a 
wind-swept and forgotten graveyard, rests all 
the remaining fame of certain bad men who in 
their time were bandit kings, who ruled by 
terror over half a Western territory. Even 
the headboard which once stood at the Kid's 
grave — and which was once riddled with bul- 
lets by cowards who would not have dared to 
shoot that close to him had he been alive — ^was 
gone. It is not likely that the graves will be 
visited again by any one who knows their local- 
ity. Garrett looked at them in silence for a 



312 The Story of 

time, then, turning, went to the buckboard for 
a drink at the canteen. "Well," said he, quietly, 
"here's to the boys, anyway. If there is any 
other life, I hope they'll make better use of It 
than they did of the one I put them out of." 



The Outlaw 3^3 



Chapter XIX 

Bad Men of Texas — The Lone Star State 
Always a Producer of Fighters — A Long His- 
tory of Border War — The Death of Ben 
Thompson. :::::- ' ' 

A REVIEW of the story of the Ameri- 
can desperado will show that he has 
always been most numerous at the edge 
of things, where there was a frontier, a debata- 
ble ground between civilization and lawless- 
ness, or a border between opposing nations or 
sections. He does not wholly pass away with 
the coming of the law, but his home is essen- 
tially in a new and undeveloped condition of 
society. The edge between East and West, 
between North and South, made the territory 
of the bad man of the American interior. 

The far Southwest was the oldest of all 
American frontiers, and the stubbornest. We 
have never, as a nation, been at war with any 



314 The Story of 

other nation whose territory has adjoined our 
own except in the case of Mexico; and long 
before we went to war as a people against 
Mexico, Texas had been at war with her as a 
state, or rather as a population and a race 
against another race. The frontier of the Rio 
Grande Is one of the bloodiest of the world, 
and was such long before Texas was finally 
admitted to the union. There was never any 
new territory settled by so vigorous and bellig- 
erent a population as that which first found and 
defended the great empire of the Lone Star. 
Her early men were, without exception, fighters, 
and she has bred fighters ever since. 

The allurement which the unsettled lands 
of the Southwest had for the young men of the 
early part of the last century lay largely in the 
appeal of excitement and adventure, with a 
large possibility of worldly gain as well. The 
men of the South who drifted down the old 
River Road across Mississippi and Louisiana 
were shrewd in their day and generation. They 
knew that eventually Texas would be taken 
away from Mexico, and taken by force. Her 
vast riches would belong to those who had 
earned them. Men of the South were even then 
hunting for another West, and here was a 



The Outlaw • 315 

mighty one. The call came back that the fight- 
ing was good all along the line ; and the fighting 
men of all the South, from Virginia to Louisi- 
ana, fathers and sons of the boldest and bravest 
of Southern families, pressed on and out to 
take a hand. They were scattered and far 
from numerous when they united and demanded 
a government of their own, independent of the 
far-ofi and inefiicient head of the Mexican law. 
They did not want Coahuila as their country, 
but Texas, and asked a government of their 
own. Lawless as they were, they wanted a real 
law, a law of Saxon right and justice. 

Men like Crockett, Fannin, Travers and 
Bowie were influenced half by political ambi- 
tion and half by love of adventure when they 
moved across the plains of eastern Texas and 
took up their abode on the firing line of the 
Mexican border. If you seek a historic band 
of bad men, fighting men of the bitterest Bare- 
sark type, look at the immortal defenders of 
the Alamo. Some of them were, in the light of 
calm analysis, little better than guerrillas; but 
every man was a hero. They all had a chance 
to escape, to go out and join Sam Houston 
farther to the east; but they refused to a man, 
and, plying the border weapons as none but 



3i6 The Story of 

such as themselves might, they died, full of the 
glory of battle; not in ranks and shoulder to 
shoulder, with banners and music to cheer them, 
but each for himself and hand to hand with his 
enemy, a desperate fighting man. 

The early men of Texas for generations 
fought Mexicans and Indians in turn. The 
country was too vast for any system of law. 
Each man had learned to depend upon himself. 
Each cabin kept a rifle and pistol for each male 
old enough to bear them, and each boy, as he 
grew up, was skilled in weapons and used to 
the thought that the only arbitrament among 
men was that of weapons. Part of the popula- 
tion, appreciating the exemptions here to be 
found, was, without doubt, criminal; made up 
of men who had fled, for reasons of their own, 
from older regions. These in time required the 
attention of the law; and the armed bodies of 
hard-riding Texas rangers, a remedy born of 
necessity, appeared as the executives of the law. 

The cattle days saw the wild times of the 
border prolonged. The buffalo range caught 
its quota of hard riders and hard shooters. 
And always the apparently exhaustless empires 
of new and unsettled lands — an enormous, un- 
tracked empire of the wild — beckoned on and 



The Outlaw 317 

on ; so that men In the most densely settled sec- 
tions were very far apart, and so that the law 
as a guardian could not be depended upon. It 
was not to be wondered at that the name of 
Texas became the synonym for savagery. That 
was for a long time the wildest region within 
our national confines. Many men who attained 
fame as fighters along the Pecos and Rio 
Grande and Gila and Colorado came across the 
borders from Texas. Others slipped north into 
the Indian Nations, and left their mark there. 
Some went to the mines of the Rockies, or the 
cattle ranges from Montana to Arizona. Many 
stayed at home, and finished their eventful lives 
there in the usual fashion — killing now and 
again, then oftener, until at length they killed 
once too often and got hanged; or not often 
enough once, and so got shot. 

To undertake to give even the most superfi- 
cial study to a field so vast as this would require 
a dozen times the space we may afford, and 
would lead us far into matters of history other 
than those intended. We can only point out 
that the men of the Lone Star state left their 
stamp as horsemen and weapon-bearers clear 
on to the north, and as far as the foot of the 
Arctic circle. Their language and their meth- 



3i8 The Story of 

ods mark the entire cattle business of the plains 
from the Rio Grande to the Selkirks. Theirs 
was a great school for frontiersmen, and Its 
graduates gave full account of themselves 
wherever they went. Among them were bad 
men, as bad as the worst of any land, and in 
numbers not capable of compass even in a 
broad estimate. 

Some citizens of Montgomery county, Texas, 
were not long ago sitting in a store of an even- 
ing, and they fell to counting up the homicides 
which had fallen under their notice in that 
county within recent memory. They counted 
up seventy-five authenticated cases, and could 
not claim comprehensiveness for their tally. 
Many a county of Texas could do as well or bet- 
ter, and there are many counties. It takes you 
two days to ride across Texas by railway. A 
review of the bad man field of Texas pauses 
for obvious reasons! 

So many bad men of Texas have attained 
reputation far wider than their state that it be- 
came a proverb upon the frontier that any 
man born on Texas soil would shoot, just as 
any horse born there would "buck." There Is 
truth back of most proverbs, although to-day 
both horses and men of Texas are losing some- 



The Outlaw 



319 



thing of their erstwhile bronco character. That 
out of such conditions, out of this hardy and 
Indomitable population, the great state could 
bring order and quiet so soon and so perma- 
nently over vast unsettled regions, is proof alike 
of the fundamental sternness and justness of the 
American character and the value of the Ameri- 
can fighting man. 

Yet, though peace hath her victories not less 
than war, it is to be doubted whether in her own 
heart Texas is more proud of her statesmen 
and commercial kings than of her stalwart 
fighting men, bred to the use of arms. The 
beautiful city of San Antonio Is to-day busy 
and prosperous; yet to-day you tread there 
ground which has been stained red over and 
over again. The names of Crockett, Milam, 
Travis, Bowie, endure where those of captains 
of Industry are forgotten. Out of history such 
as this, covering a half century of border fight- 
ing, of frontier travel and merchandising, of 
cattle trade and railroad building, it is impossi- 
ble — In view of the many competitors of equal 
claims — to select an example of bad eminence 
fit to bear the title of the leading bad man of 
Texas. 

There was one somewhat noted Texas char- 



320 The Story of 

acter, however, whose life comes down to mod- 
ern times, and hence is susceptible of fairly ac- 
curate review — a thing always desirable, though 
not often practical, for no history is more dis- 
torted, not to say more garbled, than that deal- 
ing with the somewhat mythical exploits of 
noted gun fighters. Ben Thompson, of Austin, 
killer of more than twenty men, and a very per- 
fect exemplar of the creed of the six-shooter, 
will serve as instance good enough for a generic 
application. Thompson was not a hero. He 
did no deeds of war. He led no forlorn hope 
into the imminent deadly breach. His name is 
preserved in no history of his great common- 
wealth. He was in the opinion of certain peace 
officers, all that a citizen should not be. Yet 
in his way he reached distinction; and so strik- 
ing was his life that even to-day he does not 
lack apologists, even as he never lacked friends. 
Ben Thompson was of English descent, and 
was born near Lockhart, Texas, according to 
general belief, though it is stated that he was 
born in Yorkshire, England. Later his home 
was in Austin, where he spent the greater part 
of his life, though roaming from place to place. 
Known as a bold and skillful gun man, he was 
looked on as good material for a hunter of bad 



The Outlaw 



321 



men, and at the time of his death was marshal 
of police at Austin. In personal appearance 
Thompson looked the part of the typical gam- 
bler and gun fighter. His height was about five 
feet eight Inches, and his figure was muscular 
and compact. His hair was dark and waving; 
his eyes gray. He was very neat In dress, and 
always took particular pains with his footwear, 
his small feet being always clad In well-fitting 
boots of light material, a common form of 
foppery In a land where other details of dress 
were apt to be carelessly regarded. He wore 
a dark mustache which, In his early years, he 
was wont to keep waxed to points. In speech 
he was quiet and unobtrusive, unless excited by 
drink. With the six-shooter he was a peerless 
shot, an absolute genius, none In all his wide 
surrounding claiming to be his superior; and 
he had a ferocity of disposition which grew with 
years until he had, as one of his friends put It, 
"a craving to kill people." Each killing 
seemed to make him desirous of another. He 
thus came to exercise that curious fascination 
which such characters have always commanded. 
Fear he did not know, or at least no test aris- 
ing In his somewhat varied life ever caused him 
to show fear. He passed through life as a wild 



322 The Story of 

animal, ungoverned by the law, rejoicing in 
blood; yet withal he was held as a faithful 
friend and a good companion. To this day 
many men repel the accusation that he was bad, 
and maintain that each of his twenty killings 
was done in self-defense. The brutal phase of 
his nature was no doubt dominant, even al- 
though it was not always in evidence. He was 
usually spoken of as a "good fellow," and those 
who palliate or deny most of his wild deeds 
declare that local history has never been as fair 
to him as he deserved. 

Thompson's first killing was while he was a 
young man at New Orleans, and according to 
the story, arose out of his notions of chivalry. 
He was passing down the street in a public con- 
veyance, in company of several young Creoles, 
who were going home from a dance in a some- 
what exhilarated condition. One or two of the 
strangers made remarks to an unescorted girl, 
which Thompson construed to be offensive, and 
he took it upon himself to avenge the Insult to 
womanhood. In the affray that followed he 
killed one of the young men. For this he was 
obliged to flee to old Mexico, taking one of 
the boats down the river. He returned pres- 
ently to Galveston, where he set up as a gam- 



The Outlaw 323 

bier, and began to extend his reputation as a 
fighting man. Most of his encounters were 
over cards or drink or women, the history of 
many or most of the border killings. 

Thompson's list grew steadily, and by the 
time he was forty years of age he had a reputa- 
tion far wider than his state. In all the main 
cities of Texas he was a figure more or less 
familiar, and always dreaded. His skill with 
his favorite weapon was a proverb in a state 
full of men skilled with weapons. Moreover, 
his disposition now began to grow more ugly, 
sullen and bloodthirsty. He needed small pre- 
text to kill a man if, for the slightest cause, he 
took a dislike to him. To illustrate the ferocity 
of the man, and his readiness to provoke a quar- 
rel, the following story is told of him: 

A gambler by the name of Jim Burdette was 
badly whipped by the proprietor of a variety 
show, Mark Wilson, who, after the fight, told 
Burdette that he had enough of men like him, 
who only came to his theater to raise trouble 
and interfere with his business, and that if 
either he or any of his gang ever again at- 
tempted to disturb his audiences that they would 
have him (Wilson) to deal with. The next 
day Ben Thompson, seated in a barber shop. 



324 The Story of 

heard about the row and said to a negro stand- 
ing by: "Mack, d — n your nigger soul, you go 
down to that place this evening and when the 
house Is full and everybody Is seated, you just 

raise hell and we'll see what that Is made 

of." The program was carried out. The 
negro arose In the midst of the audience and 
delivered himself of a few blood-curdling yells. 
Instantly the proprietor came out of the place, 
but caught sight of Thompson, who had drawn 
a pair of guns and stood ready to kill Wilson. 
The latter was too quick for him, and quickly 
disappeared behind the scenery, after his shot- 
gun. There was too much excitement that 
night, and the matter passed off without a kill- 
ing. A few nights thereafter, Thompson pro- 
cured some lamp-black, which he gave the gam- 
bler Burdette, with Instructions to go to the 
theater, watch his chance, and dash the stuff 
In Wilson's face. This was done and when 
the Ill-fated proprietor, who Immediately went 
for his shotgun, came out with that weapon, 
Thompson fell to the ground, and the con- 
tents of the gun, badly fired at the hands of 
Wilson, his face full of lamp-black, passed over 
Thompson's head. Thompson then arose and 
filled Wilson full of holes, killing him instantly. 



The Outlaw 325 

The bartender, seeing his employer's life in 
danger, fired at Thompson wildly, and as 
Thompson turned on him he dodged behind 
the bar to receive his death wound through the 
counter and in his back. Thompson at the 
court of last resort managed to have a lot of 
testimony brought to bear, and, with a half 
dozen gamblers to swear to anything he needed, 
he was admitted to bail and later freed. 

He is said to have killed these two men for 
no reason in the world except to show that he 
could "run" a place where others had failed. 
A variation of the story is that a saloon keeper 
fired at Thompson as he was walking down the 
street in Austin, and missing him, sprang back 
behind the bar, Thompson shooting him 
through the head, through the bar front. An- 
other man's life now meant little to him. He 
desired to be king, to be "chief," just as the 
leaders of the desperadoes in the mining regions 
of California and Montana sought to be 
"chief." It meant recognition of their courage, 
their skill, their willingness to take human life 
easily and carelessly and quickly, a singular am- 
bition which has been so evidenced in no other 
part of the world than the American West. 
It is certain that the worst bad men all over 



326 The Story of 

Texas were afraid of Ben Thompson. He was 
"chief." 

Ben Thompson left the staid paths of life 
in civilized communities. He did not rob, and 
he did not commit theft or burglary or any high- 
way crimes; yet toiling and spinning were not 
for him. He was, for the most part, a gambler, 
and after a while he ceased even to follow that 
calling as a means of livelihood. Forgetting 
the etiquette of his chosen profession, he in- 
sisted on winning no manner how and no matter 
what the game. He would go into a gambling 
resort in some town, and sit in at a game. If 
he won, very well. If he lost, he would become 
enraged, and usually ended by reaching out and 
raking in the money on the table, no matter 
what the decision of the cards. He bought 
drinks for the crowd with the money he thus 
took, and scattered it right and left, so that his 
acts found a certain sanction among those who 
had not been despoiled. 

To know what nerve it required to perform 
these acts of audacity, one must know some- 
thing of the frontier life, which at no corner 
of the world was wilder and touchier than in 
the very part of the country where Thompson 
held forth. There were hundreds of men quick 



The Outlaw '^27 

with the gun all about him, men of nerve, 
but he did not hesitate to take all manner of 
chances In that sort of population. The mad- 
ness of the bad man was upon him. He must 
have known what alone could be his fate at 
last, but he went on, defying and courting his 
own destruction, as the finished desperado al- 
ways does, under the strange creed of self- 
reliance which he established as his code of life. 
Thus, at a banquet of stockmen In Austin, and 
while the dinner was In progress, Thompson, 
alone, stampeded every man of them, and at 
that time nearly all stockmen were game. The 
fear of Thompson's pistol was such that no one 
would stand for a fight with him. Once 
Thompson went to the worst place In Texas, 
the town of Luling, where Rowdy Joe was run- 
ning the toughest dance house In America. He 
ran all the bad men out of the place, confiscated 
what cash he needed from the gaming tables 
and raised trouble generally. He showed that 
he was "chief." 

In the early eighties. In the quiet, sleepy, 
bloody old town of San Antonio, there was a 
dance hall, gambling resort and vaudeville the- 
ater, In which the main proprietor was one Jack 
Harris, commonly known as Pegleg Harris. 



328 The Story of 

Thompson frequently patronized this place on 
his visits to San Antonio, and received treatment 
which left him with a grudge against Harris, 
whom he resolved to kill. He followed his man 
into the bar-room one day and killed Harris as 
he stood in the semi-darkness. It was only 
another case of "self-defense" for Thompson, 
who was well used to being cleared of criminal 
charges or left unaccused altogether; and no 
doubt Harris would have killed him If he could. 
After killing Harris, Thompson declared 
that he proposed to kill Harris' partners, Fos- 
ter and SImms. He had an especial grudge 
against Billy SImms, then a young man not yet 
nineteen years of age, because, so it Is stated, he 
fancied that SImms supplanted him In the affec- 
tions of a woman in Austin; and he carried 
also his grudge against the gambling house, 
where SImms now was the manager. Every 
time Thompson got drunk, he declared his In- 
tention of killing Billy SImms, and as the latter 
was young and Inexperienced, he trembled In 
his boots at this talk which seemed surely to 
spell his doom. SImms, to escape Thompson's 
wrath, removed to Chicago, and remained there 
for a time, but before long was summoned 
home to Austin, where his mother was very ill. 



The Outlaw 329 

Thompson knew of his presence in Austin, but 
with magnanimity declined to kill SImms while 
he was visiting his sick mother. "Wait till he 
goes over to Santone," he said, "then I'll step 
over and kill the little ." Simms, pres- 
ently called to San Antonio to settle some debt 
of Jack Harris' estate, of which as friend and 
partner of the widow he had been appointed 
administrator, went to the latter city with a 
heavy heart, supposing that he would never 
leave it alive. He was told there that Thomp- 
son had been threatening him many times; and 
Simms received many telegrams to that effect. 
Some say that Thompson himself telegraphed 
Simms that he was coming down that day to 
kill him. Certainly a friend of Simms on the 
same day wired him warning: "Party who 
wants to destroy you on train this day bound for 
San Antonio." 

Friends of Thompson deny that he made 
such threats, and insist that he went to San 
Antonio on a wholly peaceful errand. In any 
case, this guarded but perfectly plain message 
set Simms half distracted. He went to the 
city marshal and showed his telegram, asking 
the marshal for protection, but the latter told 
him nothing could be done until Thompson had 



330 The Story of 

committed some "overt act." The sheriff and 
all the other officers said the same thing, not 
caring to meet Thompson if they could avoid 
it. Simms later in telling his story would sob 
at the memory of his feeling of helplessness 
at that time. The law gave him no protection. 
He was obliged to take matters in his own 
hands. He went to a judge of the court, and 
asked him what he should do. The judge pon- 
dered for a time, and said: "Under the circum- 
stances, I should advise a shotgun." 

Simms went to one of the faro dealers of the 
house, a man who was known as bad, and who 
never sat down to deal faro without a brace of 
big revolvers on the table; but this dealer ad- 
vised him to go and "make friends with 
Thompson." He went to Foster, Harris' old 
partner, and laid the matter before him. Fos- 
ter said, slowly, "Well, Billy, when he comes 
we'll do the best we can." Simms thought that 
he too was weakening. 

There was a big policeman, a Mexican by 
name of Coy, who was considered a brave man 
and a fighter, and Simms now went to him and 
asked for aid, saying that he expected trouble 
that night, and wanted Coy to do his duty. Coy 
did not become enthusiastic, though as a matter 



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The Outlaw <^ <^ j 

of fact neither he nor Foster made any attempt 
to leave the place. Simms turned away, feeling 
that his end was near. In desperation he got a 
shotgun, and for a time stationed himself near 
the top of the stair up which Thompson would 
probably come when entering the place. The 
theater was up one flight of stairs, and at the 
right was the customary bar, from which 
"ladies" in short skirts served drinks to the 
crowd during the variety performance, which 
was one of the attractions of the place. 

It was nervous work, waiting for the killer 
to come, and Simms could not stand it. He 
walked down the stairway, and took a turn 
around the block before he again ascended the 
stairs to the hall. Meantime, Ben Thompson, 
accompanied by another character. King Fisher, 
a man with several notches on his gun, had 
ascended the stairs, and had taken a seat on the 
right hand side and beyond the bar, in the row 
nearest the door. When Simms stepped to 
the foot of the stairs on his return, he met the 
barkeeper, who was livid with terror. He 
pointed trembling up the stair and whispered, 
"He's there!" Ben Thompson and King Fisher 
had as yet made no sort of demonstration. It 
is said that King Fisher had decoyed Thomp- 



332 The Story of 

son into the theater, knowing that a trap was 
laid to kill him. It is also declared that Thomp- 
son went in merely for amusement. A friend 
of the author, a New Mexican sheriff who hap- 
pened to be in San Antonio, saw and talked 
with both men that afternoon. They were both 
quiet and sober then. 

Simms' heart was in his mouth, but he made 
up his mind to die game, if he had to die. 
Slowly he walked up the stairway. Such was 
Thompson's vigilance, that he quickly arose and 
advanced toward Simms, who stood at the top 
of the stairs petrified and unable to move a 
muscle. Before Simms could think, his partner, 
Foster, appeared on the scene, and as he stood 
up, Thompson saw him and walked toward 
him and said: "Hello, Foster, how are you?" 
Slowly and deliberately Foster spoke: "Ben, 
this world is not big enough for us both. You 
killed poor Jack Harris like a dog, and you 
didn't as much as give him a chance for his 
life. You and I can never be friends any 
more." Quick as a flash and with a face like 
a demon, Thompson drew his pistol and 
jammed It Into Foster's mouth, cruelly tearing 
his lips and sending him reeling backward. 
While this was going on, Simms had retreated 



The Outlaw 333 

to the next step, and there drew his pistol, not 
having his shotgun In hand then. He stepped 
forward as he saw Foster reel from the blow 
Thompson gave him, and with sudden courage 
opened fire. His first shot must have taken 
effect, and perhaps It decided the conflict. 
Thompson's gun did not get Into action. SImms 
kept on firing. Thompson reeled back against 
King Fisher, and the two were unable to fire. 
Meantime the big Mexican, Coy, showed up 
from somewhere, just as Foster had. Both 
Foster and Coy rushed In front of the line of 
fire of SImms' pistol; and then without doubt, 
SImms killed his own friend and preserver. 
Foster got his death wound In such position 
that SImms admitted he must have shot him. 
None the less Foster ran Into Thompson as the 
latter reeled backwards upon Fisher, and, with 
the fury of a tiger, shoved his own pistol barrel 
Into Thompson's mouth In turn, and fired twice, 
completing the work SImms had begun. The 
giant Coy hurled his bulk Into the struggling 
mass now crowded Into the corner of the room, 
and some say he held Ben Thompson's arms, 
though In the melee It was hard to tell what 
happened. He called out to SImms, "Don't 
mind me," meaning that SImms should keep on 



334 ^'^^ Story of 

firing. "Kill the of !" he cried. 

Coy no doubt was a factor in saving Simms' 
life, for one or the other of these two worst 
men in the Southwest would have got a man 
before he fell, had he been able to get his hands 
free in the struggling. Coy was shot in the leg, 
possibly by Simms, but did not drop. Simms 
took care of Coy to the end of his life, Coy 
dying but recently. 

One of the men engaged in this desperate 
fight says that Coy did not hold Thompson, 
and that at first no one was shot to the floor. 
Thompson was staggered by Simms' first shot, 
which prevented a quick return of fire. It was 
Foster who killed Thompson and very likely 
King Fisher, the latter being hemmed in in the 
corner with Thompson in front of him. Coy 
rushed into the two and handled them so 
roughly that they never got their guns into 
action so far as known. 

Leaving the fallen men at the rear of the 
theater, Simms now went down stairs, carrying 
Foster's pistol, with two chambers empty (the 
shots that killed Thompson) and his own gun. 
He saw Thompson's brother Bill coming at 
him. He raised the gun to kill him, when Phil 
Shardein, then city marshal, jumped on Thomp- 



The Outlaw 335 

son and shielded him with his body, calling 
out, "Don't shoot, Billy, I've got him." This 
saved Bill Thompson's life. Then several shots 
were heard upstairs, and upon investigation, 
it was found that Coy had emptied his pistol 
into the dead body of Thompson. He also 

shot Fisher, to "make sure the were 

dead." 

Thus they died at last, two of the most noto- 
rious men of Texas, both with their boots on. 
There were no tears. Many told what they 
would or could have done had Ben Thompson 
threatened them. This closing act in the career 
of Ben Thompson came in the late spring of 
1 88 2^ He was then about forty-three years 
of age. 

King Fisher, who met death at the same time 
with Thompson, was a good disciple of desper- 
adoism. He was a dark-haired, slender young 
man from Goliad county — which county seems 
to have produced far more than its share of 
bad men. He had killed six men and stolen a 
great many horses in his time. Had he lived 
longer, he would have killed more. He was not 
of the caliber sufficient to undertake the running 
of a large city, but there was much relief felt 
over his death. He had many friends, of 



336 The Story of 

course, and some of these deny that he had 
any Intention of making trouble when he went 
into the theater with Ben Thompson, just as 
friends of the latter accuse King Fisher of 
treachery. There are never lacking men who 
regard dead desperadoes as martyrs; and indeed 
it is usually the case that there are mixed cir- 
cumstances arid frequently extenuating ones, to 
be found in the history of any killer's life. 

Another Goliad county man well known 
around San Antonio was Alfred Y. Allee, who 
was a rancher a short distance back from the 
railway. Allee was decent when sober, but 
when drunk was very dangerous, and was rec- 
ognized as bad and well worth watching. 
Liquor seemed to transform him and to make 
him a bloodthirsty fiend. He had killed several 
men, one or two under no provocation whatever 
and when they were defenseless, including a 
porter on a railway train. It was his habit to 
come to town and get drunk, then to invite 
every one to drink with him and take offense 
at any refusal. He liked to be "chief" of the 
drinking place which he honored with his pres- 
ence. He once ordered a peaceful citizen of 
San Antonio, a friend of the writer, up to drink 
with him, and when the latter declined came 



The Outlaw 337 

near shooting him. The man took his drink, 
then slipped away and got his shotgun. Per- 
haps his second thought was wiser. "What's 
the use?" he argued with himself. *'Somc- 
body'll kill Allee before long anyhow." 

This came quite true, for within the week 
Allee had run his course. He dropped down 
to Laredo and began to * 'hurrah' that town 
also. The town marshal, Joe Bartelow, was a 
Mexican, but something of a killer himself, and 
he resolved to end the Allee disturbances, once 
for all. It is said that Allee was not armed 
when at length they met in a saloon, and it is 
said that Bartelow offered his hand in greet- 
ing. At once Bartelow threw his arm around 
Alice's neck, and with his free hand cut him 
to death with a knife. Whether justifiable or 
not, that was the fashion of the homicide. 

Any man who has killed more than twenty 
men is in most countries considered fit to qualify 
as bad. This test would include the little hu- 
man tiger, Tumlinson, of South Texas, who was 
part of the time an ofiicer of the law and part 
of the time an independent killer in Texas. He 
had many more than twenty men to his credit, 
it was said, and his Mexican wife, smilingly, 
always said that "Tumlinson never counted 



338 The Story of 

Mexicans." He was a genius with the revol- 
ver, and as good a rifle shot as would often be 
found. It made no difference to him whether 
or not a man was running, for part of his pistol 
practice was in shooting at a bottle swinging in 
the wind from the bough of a tree. Legend 
goes that Tumlinson killed his wife and then 
shot himself dead, taking many secrets with 
him. He was bad. 

Sam Bass was a noted outlaw and killer in 
West Texas, accustomed to ride into town and 
to take charge of things when he pleased. He 
had many thefts and robberies to his credit, and 
not a few murders. His finish was one not in- 
frequent in that country. The citizens got 
wind of his coming one day, just before he 
rode into Round Rock for a little raid. The 
city marshal and several others opened fire on 
Bass and his party, and killed them to a man. 

It was of such stuff as this that most of the 
bad men and indeed many of the peace officers 
were composed, along a wide frontier in the 
early troublous days following the civil war, 
when all the border was a seething mass of 
armed men for whom the law had as yet gained 
no meaning. To tell the story of more indi- 
viduals would be to depart from the purpose 



The Outlaw 339 

of this work. Were these men wrong, and 
were they wholly and unreservedly bad? Ig- 
norance and bigotry will be the first to give 
the answer, the first to apply to them the stand- 
ards of these later days. 



340 The Story of 



Chapter XX 

Modern Bad Men — Murder and Robbery as 
a Profession — The School of Guerrilla War- 
fare — Butcher Quantrell; the James Broth- 
ers; the Younger Brothers. : : : : : 

OUTLAWRY of the early border, In 
days before any pretense at establish- 
ment of a system of law and govern- 
ment, and before the holding of property had 
assumed any very stable form, may have re- 
tained a certain glamour of romance. The 
loose gold of the mountains, the loose cattle 
of the plains, before society had fallen into any 
strict way of living, and while plenty seemed to 
exist for any and all, made a temptation easily 
accepted and easily excused. The ruffians of 
those early days had a largeness in their meth- 
ods which gives some of them at least a color 
of interest. If any excuse may be offered for 
lawlessness, any palliation for acts committed 



The Outlaw 341 

without counteaance of the law, that excuse and 
palliation may be pleaded for these men if for 
any. But for the man who is bad and mean as 
well, who kills for gain, and who adds cruelty 
and cunning to his acts instead of boldness and 
courage, little can be said. Such characters 
afford us horror, but it is horror unmingled with 
any manner of admiration. 

Yet, if we reconcile ourselves to tarry a mo- 
ment with the cheap and gruesome, the brutal 
and ignorant side of mere crime, we shall be 
obliged to take into consideration some of the 
bloodiest characters ever known in our history; 
who operated well within the day of established 
law; who made a trade of robbery, and whose 
capital consisted of disregard for the life and 
property of others. That men like this should 
live for years at the very door of large cities, 
in an old settled country, and known familiarly 
in their actual character to thousands of good 
citizens, is a strange commentary on the Ameri- 
can character; yet such are the facts. 

It has been shown that a widely extended war 
always has the effect of cheapening human life 
in and out of the ranks of the fighting armies. 
The early wars of England, in the days of the 
longbow and buckler, brought on her palmiest 



342 The Story of 

days of cutpurses and cutthroats. The days 
following our own civil war were fearful ones 
for the entire country from Montana to Texas ; 
and nowhere more so than along the dividing 
line between North and South, where feeling 
far bitterer than soldierly antagonism marked 
a large population on both sides of that contest. 
We may further restrict the field by saying that 
nowhere on any border was animosity so fierce 
as in western Missouri and eastern Kansas, 
where jayhawker and border ruflian waged a 
guerrilla war for years before the nation was 
arrayed against Itself in ordered ranks. If 
mere blood be matter of our record here, assur- 
edly. Is a field of Interest. The deeds of Lane 
and Brown, of Quantrell and Hamilton, are 
not surpassed In terror In the history of any 
land. Osceola, Marais du Cygne, Lawrence — 
these names warrant a shudder even to-day. 

This locality — say that part of Kansas and 
Missouri near the towns of Independence and 
Westport, and more especially the counties of 
Jackson and Clay in the latter state — was al- 
ways turbulent, and had reason to be. Here 
was the halting place of the westbound civili- 
zation, at the edge of the plains, at the line 
long dividing the whites from the Indians. 



The Outlaw 



343 



Here settled, like the gravel along the cleats of 
a sluice, the daring men who had pushed west 
from Kentucky, Tennessee, lower Ohio, eastern 
Missouri — the Boones, Carsons, Crocketts, and 
Kentons of their day. Here came the Mor- 
mons to found their towns, and later to meet 
the armed resistance which drove them across 
the plains. Here, at these very towns, was the 
outfitting place and departing point of the cara- 
vans of the early Santa Fe trade ; here the Ore- 
gon Trail left for the far Northwest; and here 
the Forty-niners paused a moment In their mad 
rush to the golden coast of the Pacific. Here, 
too, adding the bitterness of fanaticism to the 
courage of the frontier, came the bold men of 
the North who Insisted that Kansas should be 
free for the expansion of the northern popula- 
tion and Institutions. 

This corner of Missouri-Kansas was a focus 
of recklessness and daring for more than a 
whole generation. The children born there had 
an inheritance of indifference to death such as 
has been surpassed nowhere in our frontier un- 
less that were in the bloody Southwest. The 
men of this country, at the outbreak of the civil 
war, made as high an average in desperate 
fighting as any that ever lived. Too restless to 



344 '^^^ Story of 

fight under the ensign of any but their own Ilk, 
they set up a banner of their own. The black 
flags of Quantrell and of Lane, of border ruf- 
fian and jayhawker, were guidons under which 
quarter was unknown, and mercy a forgotten 
thing. Warfare became murder, and murder 
became assassination. Ambushing, surprise, 
pillage and arson went with murder; and 
women and children were killed as well as fight- 
ing men. Is it wonder that in such a school 
there grew up those figures which a certain 
class of writers have been wont to call bandit 
kings; the bank robbers and train robbers of 
modern days, the James and Younger type of 
bad men? 

The most notorious of these border fighters 
was the bloody leader, Charles William Quan- 
trell, leader at the sacking of Lawrence, and as 
dangerous a partisan leader as ever threw leg 
Into saddle. He was bom in Hagerstown, 
Maryland, July 20, 1836, and as a boy lived 
for a time in the Ohio city of Cleveland. At 
twenty years of age, he joined his brother for a 
trip to California, via the great plains. This 
was in 1856, and Kansas was full of Free Sell- 
ers, whose political principles were not always 
untempered by a large-minded willingness to 



The Outlaw 345 

rob. A party of these men surprised the Quan- 
trell party on the Cottonwood river, and killed 
the older brother. Charles William Quantrell 
swore an undying revenge; and he kept his 
oath. 

It Is not necessary to mention In detail the 
deeds of this border leader. They might have 
had commendation for their daring had It not 
been for their brutality and treachery. Quan- 
trell had a band of sworn men, held under sol- 
emn oath to stand by each other and to keep 
their secrets. These men were well armed and 
well mounted, were all fearless and all good 
shots, the revolver being their especial arm, as 
it was of Mosby^s men in the civil war. The 
tactics of this force comprised surprise, ambush, 
and a determined rush, in turn; and time and 
again they defeated Federal forces many times 
their number, being thoroughly well acquainted 
with the country, and scrupling at nothing in 
the way of treachery, just as they considered 
little the odds against which they fought. Their 
victims were sometimes paroled, but not often, 
and a massacre usually followed a defeat — al- 
most invariably so if the number of prisoners 
was small. 

Cold-blooded and unhesitating murder was 



34^ The Story of 

part of their everyday life. Thus Jesse James, 
on the march to the Lawrence massacre, had in 
charge three men, one of thern an old man, 
whom they took along as guides from the little 
town of Aubrey, Kansas. They used these men 
until they found themselves within a few miles 
of Lawrence, and then, as is alleged, members 
of the band took them aside and killed them, 
the old man begging for his life and pleading 
that he never had done them any wrong. His 
murderers were no more than boys. This act 
may have been that of bad men, but not of the 
sort of bad men that leaves us any sort of re- 
spect, such as that which may be given Wild 
Bill, even Billy the Kid, or any of a dozen 
other big-minded desperadoes. 

This assassination was but one of scores or 
hundreds. A neighbor suspected of Federal 
sympathies was visited in the night and shot or 
hanged, his property destroyed, his family 
killed. The climax of the Lawrence massacre 
was simply the working out of principles of 
blood and revenge. In that fight, or, more 
properly, that massacre, women and children 
went down as well as men. The James boys 
were Quantrell riders, Jesse a new recruit, and 
that day they maintained that they had killed 



The Outlaw 347 

sixty-five persons between them, and wounded 
twenty more ! What was the total record of 
these two men alone In all this period of guer- 
rilla fighting? It cannot be told. Probably 
they themselves could not remember. The four 
Younger boys had records almost or quite as 
bad. 

There, indeed, was a border soaked in blood, 
a country torn with intestinal warfare. Quan- 
trell was beaten now and then, meeting fighting 
men In blue or In jeans, as well as leading fight- 
ing men; and at times he was forced to dis- 
band his men, later to recruit again, and to 
go on with his marauding up and down the 
border. His career attracted the attention of 
leaders on both sides of the opposing armies, 
and at one time it was nearly planned that Con- 
federates should join the Unionists and make 
common cause against these guerrillas, who had 
made the name of Missouri one of reproach 
and contempt. The matter finally adjusted It- 
self by the death of Quantrell in a fight at 
Smiley, Kentucky, in January, 1865. 

With a birth and training such as this, what 
could be expected for the surviving Quantrell 
men? They scattered over all the frontier, 
from Texas to Minnesota, and most of them 



348 The Story of 

lived In terror of their lives thereafter, with the 
name of Quantrell as a term of loathing at- 
tached to them where their earlier record was 
known. Many and many a border killing years 
later and far removed In locality arose from the 
Implacable hatred descended from those days. 

As for the James boys, the Younger boys, 
what could they do? The days of war were 
gone. There were no longer any armed ban- 
ners arrayed one against the other. The sol- 
diers who had fought bravely and openly on 
both sides had laid down their arms and fra- 
ternized. The Union grew, strong and Indis- 
soluble. Men settled down to farming, to artl- 
sanshlp, to merchandising, and their wounds 
were healed. Amnesty was extended to those 
who wished It and deserved It. These men 
could have found a living easy to them, for 
the farming lands still lay rich and ready for 
them. But they did not want this life of toil. 
They preferred the ways of robbery and blood 
In which they had begun. They cherished ani- 
mosity now, not against the Federals, but 
against mankind. The social world was their 
field of harvest; and they reaped It, weapon In 
hand. 

The James family originally came from Ken- 



The Outlaw 349 

tucky, where Frank was born, In Scott county, 
In 1846. The father, Robert James, was a 
Baptist minister of the Gospel. He removed 
to Clay county, Missouri, In 1849, ^^<^ Jesse 
was born there In 1850. Reverend Robert 
James left for California In 185 1 and never 
returned. The mother, a woman of great 
strength of character, later married a Doctor 
Samuels. She was much embittered by the per- 
secution of her family, as she considered it. 
She herself lost an arm In an attack by detectives 
upon her home, In which a young son was 
killed. The family had many friends and con- 
federates throughout the country; else the 
James boys must have found an end long before 
they were brought to justice. 

From precisely the same surroundings came 
the Younger boys, Thomas Coleman, or "Cole," 
Younger, and his brothers, John, Bruce, James, 
and Robert. Their father was Henry W. 
Younger, who settled In Jackson county, Mis- 
souri, In 1825, and was known as a man of 
ability and worth. For eight years he was 
county judge, and was twice elected to the state 
legislature. He had fourteen children, of 
whom five certainly were bad. At one time he 
owned large bodies of land, and he was a pros- 



350 The Story of 

perous merchant in Harrisonville for some 
time. Cole Younger was born January 15, 
1844, John in 1846, Bruce in 1848, James in 
1850, and Bob in 1853. As these boys grew 
old enough, they joined the Quantrell bands, 
and their careers were precisely the same as 
those of the James boys. The cause of their 
choice of sides was the same. Jennison, the 
Kansas jayhawker leader, in one of his raids 
into Missouri, burned the houses of Younger 
and confiscated the horses in his livery stables. 
After that the boys of the family swore re- 
venge. 

At the close of the war, the Younger and 
James boys worked together very often, and 
were leaders of a band which had a cave in 
Clay county and numberless farm houses where 
they could expect shelter in need. With them, 
part of the time, were George and Ollie Shep- 
herd; other members of their band were Bud 
Singleton, Bob Moore, Clel Miller and his 
brother, Arthur McCoy; others who came and 
went from time to time were regularly con- 
nected with the bigger operations. It would be 
wearisome to recount the long list of crimes 
these men committed for ten or fifteen years 
after the war. They certainly brought noto- 



The Outlaw 351 

riety to their country. They had the entire 
press of America reproaching the State of Mis- 
souri ; they had the governors of that state and 
two or three others at their wits' end; they had 
the best forces of the large city detective 
agencies completely baffled. They killed two 
detectives — one of whom, however, killed John 
Younger before he died — and executed another 
in cold blood under circumstances of repellant 
brutality. They raided over Missouri, Kansas, 
Kentucky, Tennessee, even as far east as West 
Virginia, as far north as Minnesota, as far 
south as Texas and even old Mexico. They 
looted dozens of banks, and held up as many 
railway passenger trains and as many stage 
coaches and travelers as they liked. The James 
boys alone are known to have taken in their 
robberies $275,000, and, including the unlaw- 
ful gains of their colleagues, the Youngers, no 
doubt they could have accounted for over half 
a million dollars. They laughed at the law, 
defied the state and county governments, and 
rode as they liked, here, there, and everywhere, 
until the name of law in the West was a mock- 
ery. If magnitude in crime be claim to dis- 
tinction, they might ask the title, for surely their 
exploits were unrivaled, and perhaps cannot 



352 The Story of 

again be equaled. And they did all of these 
unbelievable things in the heart of the Missis- 
sippi valley, in a country thickly settled, in the 
face of a long reputation for criminal deeds, 
and in a country fully warned against them ! 
Surely, it seems sometimes that American law is 
weak. 

It was much the same story in all the long 
list of robberies of small country banks. A 
member of the gang would locate the bank and 
get an idea of the interior arrangements. Two 
or three of the gang would step in and ask to 
have a bill changed; then they would cover the 
cashier with revolvers and force him to open 
the safe. If he resisted, he was killed; some- 
times killed no matter what he did, as was 
cashier Sheets in the Gallatin bank robbery. 
The guard outside kept the citizens terrified un- 
til the booty was secured; then flight on good 
horses followed. After that ensued the fran- 
tic and unorganized pursuit by citizens and offi- 
cers, possibly another killing or two en route, 
and a return to their lurking place in Clay 
county, Missouri, where they never had any 
difficulty in proving all the alibis they needed. 
None of these men ever confessed to a full 
list of these robberies, and, even years later, 



The Outlaw 353 

they all denied complicity ; but the facts are too 
well known to warrant any attention to their 
denials, founded upon a very natural reticence. 
Of course, their safety lay in the sympathy of 
a large number of neighbors of something the 
same kidney; and fear of retaliation supplied 
the only remaining motive needed to enforce 
secrecy. 

Some of the most noted bank robberies in 
which the above mentioned men, or some of 
them, were known to have been engaged were 
as follows: The Clay County Savings Associ- 
ation, of Liberty, Missouri, February 14, 1866, 
In which a little boy by name of Wymore was 
shot to pieces because he obeyed the orders of 
the bank cashier and gave the alarm; the bank 
of Alexander Mitchell & Co., Lexington, Mis- 
souri, October 30, i860; the McLain Bank, 
of Savannah, Missouri, March 2, 1867, in 
which Judge McLain was shot and nearly 
killed; the Hughes & Mason Bank, of Rich- 
mond, Missouri, May 23, 1867, and the later 
attack on the jail, in which Mayor Shaw, Sher- 
iff J. B. Griffin, and his brave fifteen-year-old 
boy were all killed; the bank of Russellvllle, 
Kentucky, March 20, 1868, in which cashier 
Long was badly beaten; the Daviess County 



354 ^'^^ Story of 

Savings Bank, of Gallatin, Missouri, Decem- 
ber 7, 1869, in which cashier John Sheets was 
brutally killed; the bank of Obocock Brothers, 
Corydon, Iowa, June 3, 1871, in which forty 
thousand dollars was taken, although no one 
was killed; the Deposit Bank, of Columbia, 
Missouri, April 29, 1872, in which cashier R. 
A. C. Martin was killed; the Savings Associa- 
tion, of Ste. Genevieve, Missouri; the Bank of 
Huntington, West Virginia, September i, 1875, 
in which one of the bandits, McDaniels, was 
killed; the Bank of Northfield, Minnesota, Sep- 
tember 7, 1876, in which cashier J. L. Hay- 
wood was killed, A. E. Bunker wounded, and 
several of the bandits killed and captured as 
later described. 

These same men or some of them also robbed 
a stage coach now and then ; near Hot Springs, 
Arkansas, for example, January 15, 1874, 
where they picked up four thousand dollars, and 
included ex-Governor Burbank, of Dakota, 
among their victims, taking from him alone 
fifteen hundred dollars; the San Antonio- 
Austin coach, in Texas, May 12, 1875, in which 
John Breckenridge, president of the First 
National Bank of San Antonio, was relieved 
of one thousand dollars; and the Mammoth 



The Outlaw 355 

Cave, Kentucky, stage, September 3, 1880, 
where they took nearly two thousand dollars 
in cash and jewelry from passengers of dis- 
tinction. 

The most daring of their work, however, 
and that which brought them into contact with 
the United States government for tampering 
with the mails, was their repeated robbery of 
railway mail trains, which became a matter of 
simplicity and certainty in their hands. To 
flag a train or to stop it with an obstruction ; or 
to get aboard and mingle with the train crew, 
then to halt the train, kill any one who opposed 
them, and force the opening of the express 
agent's safe, became a matter of routine with 
them in time, and the amount of cash they thus 
obtained was staggering in the total. The 
most noted train robberies in which members 
of the James-Younger bands were engaged 
were the Rock Island train robbery near Coun- 
cil Bluffs, Iowa, July 21, 1873, i" which en- 
gineer Rafferty was killed in the wreck, and but 
small booty secured; the Gad's Hill, Missouri, 
robbery of the Iron Mountain train, January 
28, 1874, in which about five thousand dollars 
was secured from the express agent, mail bags 
and passengers ; the Kansas- Pacific train robbery 



356 The Story of 

near Muncie, Kansas, December 12, 1874, in 
which they secured more than fifty-five thousand 
dollars in cash and gold dust, with much jew- 
elry; the Missouri-Pacific train robbery at 
Rocky Cut, July 7, 1876, where they held the 
train for an hour and a quarter and secured 
about fifteen thousand dollars in all; the rob- 
bery of the Chicago & Alton train near Glen- 
dale, Missouri, October 7, 1879, in which the 
James boys' gang secured between thirty-five 
and fifty thousand dollars in currency; the rob- 
bery of the Rock Island train near Winston, 
Missouri, July 15, 188 1, by the James boys' 
gang, in which conductor Westfall was killed, 
messenger Murray badly beaten, and a pas- 
senger named MacMillan killed, little booty 
being obtained; the Blue Cut robbery of the 
Alton train, September 7, 1881, in which the 
James boys and eight others searched every 
passenger and took away a two-bushel sack full 
of cash, watches, and jewelry, beating the ex- 
press messenger badly because they got so little 
from the safe. This last robbery caused the 
resolution of Governor Crittenden, of Missouri, 
to take the bandits dead or alive, a reward of 
thirty thousand dollars being arranged by dif- 
ferent railways and express companies, a price 



The Outlaw 357 

of ten thousand dollars each being put on the 
heads of Frank and Jesse James. 

Outside of this long list of the bandit gang's 
deeds of outlawry, they were continually in 
smaller undertakings of a similar nature. Once 
they took away ten thousand dollars in cash 
at the box office of the Kansas City Fair, this 
happening September 26, 1872, in a crowded 
city, with all the modern machinery of the law 
to guard its citizens. Many acts at widely 
separated parts of the country were accredited 
to the Younger or the James boys, and al- 
though they cannot have been guilty of all of 
them, and, although many of the adventures 
accredited to them in Texas, Mexico, Cali- 
fornia, the Indian Nations, etc., bear earmarks 
of apocryphal origin, there is no doubt that 
for twenty years after the close of the civil 
war they made a living in this way, their gang 
being made up of perhaps a score of different 
men in all, and usually consisting of about six 
to ten men, according to the size of the under- 
taking on hand. 

Meantime, all these years, the list of homi- 
cides for each of them was growing. Jesse 
James killed three men out of six who attacked 
his house one night, and not long after Frank 



358 The Story of 

and he are alleged to have killed six men in a 
gambling fight in California. John and Jim 
Younger killed the Pinkerton detectives Lull 
and Daniels, John being himself killed at that 
time by Daniels. A little later, Frank and Jesse 
James and Clel Miller killed detective Wicher, 
of the same agency, torturing him for some 
time before his death in the attempt to make 
him divulge the Pinkerton plans. The James 
boys killed Daniel Askew in revenge ; and Jesse 
James and Jim Anderson killed Ike Flannery 
for motives of robbery. This last set the gang 
into hostile camps, for Flannery was a nephew 
of George Shepherd. Shepherd later killed 
Anderson in Texas for his share in that act; 
he also shot Jesse James and for a long time 
supposed he had killed him. 

The full record of these outlaws will never 
be known. Their career came to an end soon 
after the heavy rewards were put upon their 
heads, and it came in the usual way, through 
treachery. Allured by the prospect of gaining 
ten thousand dollars, two cousins of Jesse 
James, Bob and Charlie Ford, pretending to 
join his gang for another robbery, became mem- 
bers of Jesse James' household while he was 
living incognito as Thomas Howard. On the 




THE OLD FRITZ RANCH 




A BORDER FORTRESS 



The Outlaw 359 

morning of April 3, 1882, Bob Ford, a mere 
boy, not yet twenty years of age, stepped be- 
hind Jesse James as h^ was standing on a chair 
dusting off a picture frame, and, firing at close 
range, shot him through the head and killed 
him. Bob Ford never got much respect for 
his act, and his money was soon gone. He 
himself was killed in February, 1892, at Creede, 
Colorado, by a man named Kelly. 

Jesse James was about five feet ten inches 
in height, and weighed about one hundred and 
sixty-five pounds. His hair and eyes were 
brown. He had, during his life, been shot 
twice through the lungs, once through the leg, 
and had lost a finger of the left hand from 
a bullet wound. Frank James was slighter 
than his brother, with light hair and blue eyes, 
and a ragged, reddish mustache. Frank sur- 
rendered to Governor Crittenden himself at 
Jefferson City, In October, 1882, taking off his 
revolvers and saying that no man had touched 
them but himself since 1861. He was sen- 
tenced to the penitentiary for life, but later par- 
doned, as he was thought to be dying of con- 
sumption. At this writing, he is still alive, 
somewhat old and bent now, but leading a quiet 
and steady life, and showing no disposition to 



360 The Story of 

return to his old ways. He is sometimes seen 
around the race tracks, where he does but little 
talking. Frank James has had many apolo- 
gists, and his life should be considered In con- 
nection with the environments in which he grew 
up. He killed many men, but he was never as 
cold and cruel as Jesse, and of the two he was 
the braver man, men say who knew them both. 
He never was known to back down under any 
circumstances. 

The fate of the Younger boys was much min- 
gled with that of the James boys, but the end 
of the careers of the former came in more 
dramatic fashion. The wonder is that both 
parties should have clung together so long, for 
it Is certain that Cole Younger once intended to 
kill Jesse James, and one night he came near 
killing George Shepherd through malicious 
statements Jesse James had made to him about 
the latter. Shepherd met Cole at the house of 
a friend named Hudspeth, in Jackson county, 
and their host put them in the same bed that 
night for want of better accommodations. 
''After we lay down," said Shepherd later. In 
describing this, "I saw Cole reach up under his 
pillow and draw out a pistol, which he put be- 
side him under the cover. Not to be taken un- 



The Outlaw 361 

awares, I at once grasped my own pistol and 
shoved It down under the covers beside me. 
Were It to save my life, I couldn't tell what 
reason Cole had for becoming my enemy. We 
talked very little, but just lay there watching 
each other. He was behind and I on the front 
side of the bed, and during the entire night we 
looked Into each other's eyes and never moved. 
It was the most wretched night I ever passed 
In my life." So much may at times be the 
price of being ''bad." By good fortune, they 
did not kill each other, and the next day Cole 
told Shepherd that he had expected him to shoot 
on sight, as Jesse James had said he would. 
Explanations then followed. It nearly came to 
a collision between Cole Younger and Jesse 
James later, for Cole challenged him to fight, 
and It was only with difficulty that their friends 
accommodated the matter. 

The history of the Younger boys Is tragic all 
the way through. Their father was assassin- 
ated, their mother was forced to set fire to her 
own house and destroy It under penalty of 
death; three sisters were arrested and confined 
In a barracks at Kansas City, which during a 
high wind fell in, killed two of the girls and 
crippled the other. John Younger was a mur- 



362 The Story of 

derer at the age of fourteen, and how many 
times Cole Younger was a murderer, with or 
without his wish, will never be known. He was 
shot three times in one fight in guerrilla days, 
and probably few bad men ever carried off 
more lead than he. 

The story of the Northfield bank robbery 
in Minnesota, which ended so disastrously to 
the bandits who undertook it, is interesting as 
showing what brute courage, and, indeed, what 
fidelity and fortitude may at times be shown by 
dangerous specimens of bad men. The pur- 
pose of the robbery was criminal, its carrying 
out was attended with murder, and the revenge 
for it came sharp and swift. In all the annals 
of desperadoes, there is not a battle more strik- 
ing than this which occurred in a sleepy and 
contented little village in the quiet northern 
farming country, where no one for a moment 
dreamed that the bandits of the rumored bloody 
lands along the Missouri would ever trouble 
themselves to come. The events immediately 
connected with this tragedy, the result of which 
was the ending of the Younger gang, were as 
hereinafter described. 

Bill Chadwell, alias Styles, a member of the 
James boys gang, had formerly lived in Minne- 



The Outlaw 363 

sota. He drew a pleasing picture of the wealth 
of that country, and the ease with which it 
could be obtained by bandit methods. Cole 
Younger was opposed to going so far from 
home, but was overruled. He finally joined the 
others — Frank and Jesse James, Clel Miller, 
Jim and Bob Younger, Charlie Pitts and Chad- 
well. They went to Minnesota by rail, and, 
after looking over the country, purchased good 
horses, and prepared to raid the little town of 
Northfield, in Rice county. They carried their 
enterprise into effect on September 7, 1876, 
using methods with which earlier experience 
had made them familiar. They rode into the 
middle of the town and opened fire, ordering 
every one off the streets. Jesse James, Charlie 
Pitts and Bob Younger entered the bank, where 
they found cashier J. L. Haywood, with two 
clerks, Frank Wilcox and A. E. Bunker. Bun- 
ker started to run, and Bob Younger shot him 
through the shoulder. They ordered Haywood 
to open the safe, but he bluntly refused, even 
though they slightly cut him in the throat to 
enforce obedience. Firing now began from the 
citizens on the street, and the bandits in the 
bank hurried in their work, contenting them- 
selves with such loose cash as they found in the 



364 The Story of 

drawers and on the counter. As they started 
to leave the bank, Haywood made a motion to- 
ward a drawer as if to find a weapon. Jesse 
James turned and shot him through the head, 
killing him instantly. These three of the ban- 
dits then sprang out into the street. They were 
met by the fire of Doctor Wheeler and several 
other citizens. Hide, Stacey, Manning and 
Bates. Doctor Wheeler was across the street 
in an upstairs room, and as Bill Chadwell un- 
dertook to mount his horse, Wheeler fired and 
shot him dead. Manning fired at Clel Miller, 
who had mounted, and shot him from his horse. 
Cole Younger was by this time ready to retreat, 
but he rode up to Miller, and removed from 
his body his belt and pistols. Manning fired 
again, and killed the horse behind which Bob 
Younger was hiding, and an instant later a shot 
from Wheeler struck Bob In the right elbow. 
Although this arm was disabled Bob shifted 
his pistol to his left hand and fired at Bates, 
cutting a furrow through his cheek, but not 
killing him. About this time a Norwegian by 
the name of Gustavson appeared on the street, 
and not halting at the order to do so, he was 
shot through the head by one of the bandits, 
receiving a wound from which he died a few 



The Outlaw 365 

days later. The gang then began to scatter and 
retreat. Jim Younger was on foot and was 
wounded. Cole rode back up the street, and 
took the wounded man on his horse behind him. 
The entire party then rode out of town to the 
west, not one of them escaping without severe 
wounds. 

As soon as the bandits had departed, news 
was sent by telegraph, notifying the surround- 
ing country of the robbery. Sheriffs, police- 
men and detectives rallied In such numbers that 
the robbers were hard put to It to escape alive. 
A state reward of $1,000 for each was pub- 
lished, and all lower Minnesota organized It- 
self Into a determined man hunt. The gang 
undertook to get over the Iowa line, and they 
managed to keep away from their pursuers until 
the morning of the 13th, a week after the rob- 
bery. The six survivors were surrounded on 
that day in a strip of timber. Frank and Jesse 
James broke through, riding the same horse. 
They were fired upon, a bullet striking Frank 
James In the right knee, and passing through 
Into Jesse's right thigh. None the less, the two 
got away, stole a horse apiece that night, and 
passed on to the Southwest. They rode bare- 
back, and now and again enforced a horse trade 



366 The Story of 

with a farmer or livery-stable man. They got 
down near Sioux Falls, and there met Doctor 
Mosher, whom they compelled to dress their 
wounds, and to furnish them horses and cloth- 
ing. Later on their horses gave out, and they 
hired a wagon and kept on. Their escape seems 
incomprehensible, yet it is the case that they 
got quite clear, finally reaching Missouri. 

Of the other bandits there were left Cole, 
Jim and Bob Younger and Charlie Pitts; and 
after these a large number of citizens followed 
close. In spite of the determined pursuit, they 
kept out of reach for another week. On the 
morning of September 21st, two weeks after 
the robbery, they were located in the woods 
along the Watonwan river, not far from Made- 
lia. Sheriff Glispin hurriedly got together a 
posse and surrounded them in a patch of timber 
not over five acres in extent. In a short time 
more than one hundred and fifty men were 
about this cover; but although they kept up fir- 
ing, they could not drive out the concealed ban- 
dits. Sheriff Glispin called for volunteers; and 
with Colonel Vaught, Ben Rice, George Brad- 
ford, James Severson, Charles Pomeroy and 
Captain Murphy moved into the cover. As 
they advanced, Charlie Pitts sprang out from 



The Outlaw 367 

the brush, and fired point blank at Glispln. At 
the same Instant the latter also fired and shot 
Pitts, who ran a short distance and fell dead. 
Then Cole, Bob and Jim Younger stood up and 
opened fire as best they could, all of the men 
of the storming party returning their fire. Mur- 
phy was struck in the body by a bullet, and 
his life was saved by his pipe, which he carried 
in his vest pocket. Another member of the 
posse had his watch blown to pieces by a bul- 
let. The Younger boys gave back a little, but 
this brought them within sight of those sur- 
rounding the thicket, so they retreated again 
close to the line of the volunteers. Cole and 
Jim Younger were now badly shot. Bob, with 
his broken right arm, stood his ground, the 
only one able to continue the fight, and kept 
his revolver going with his left hand. The 
others handed him their revolvers after his own 
was empty. The firing from the posse still 
continued, and at last Bob called out to them 
to stop, as his brothers were all shot to pieces. 
He threw down his pistol, and walked forward 
to the sheriff, to whom he surrendered. Bob 
always spoke with respect of Sheriff Glispin 
both as a fighter and as a peace officer. One of 
the farmers drew up his gun to kill Bob after 



368 The Story of 

he had surrendered, but Gllspln told him to 
drop his gun or he would kill him. 

It is doubtful if any set of men ever showed 
more determination and more ability to stand 
punishment than these misled outlaws. Bob 
Younger was hurt less than any of the others. 
His arm had been broken at Northfield two 
weeks before, but he was wounded but once, 
slightly in the body, out of all the shots fired 
at him while in the thicket. Cole Younger 
had a rifle bullet In the right cheek, which 
paralyzed his right eye. He had received a 
.45 revolver bullet through the body, and also 
had been shot through the thigh at Northfield. 
He received eleven different wounds In the fight, 
or thirteen bad wounds in all, enough to have 
killed a half dozen men. Jim's case seemed 
even worse, for he had In his body eight buck- 
shot and a rifle bullet. He had been shot 
through the shoulder at Northfield, and nearly 
half his lower jaw had been carried away by a 
heavy bullet, a wound which caused him intense 
suffering. Bob was the only one able to stand 
on his feet. 

Of the two men killed In town, Clel Miller 
and Bill Chadwell, the former had a long rec- 
ord In bank robberies; the latter, guide In the 



The Outlaw 369 

ill-fated expedition to Minnesota, was a horse 
thief of considerable note at one time In lower 
Minnesota. 

The prisoners were placed In jail at Fari- 
bault, the county seat of Rice county, and In a 
short time the Grand Jury returned true bills 
against them, charging them with murder and 
robbery. Court convened November 7th, 
Judge Lord being on the bench. All of the 
prisoners pleaded guilty, and the order of 
the court was that each should be confined in the 
state penitentiary for the period of his natural 
life. 

The later fate of the Younger boys may be 
read in the succinct records of the Minnesota 
State Prison at Stillwater: 

^^Thos. Coleman Younger, sentenced Nov. 
20, 1876, from Rice county under a life sen- 
tence for the crime of Murder in the first de- 
gree. Paroled July 14, 1901. Pardoned Feb. 
4, 1903, on condition that he leave the State 
of Minnesota, and that he never exhibit himself 
In public in any way. 

^^ James Younger, sentenced Nov. 20, 1876, 
from Rice county under a life sentence for the 
crime of Murder In the first degree. Paroled 
July 13, 1 90 1. Shot himself with a revolver 



37^ The Story of 

In the city of St. Paul, Minn., and died at once 
from the wound Inflicted on Oct. 19, 1902. 

^^Robt. Younger, sentenced Nov. 20, 1876, 
from Rice county under a life sentence for the 
crime of Murder In the first degree. He died 
Sept. 16, 1889, o^ phthisis." 

The James boys almost miraculously escaped, 
traveled clear across the State of Iowa and got 
back to their old haunts. They did not stop, 
but kept on going until they got to Mexico, 
where they remained for some time. They did 
not take their warning, however, and some of 
their most desperate train robberies were com- 
mitted long after the Younger boys were In the 
penitentiary. 

In view of the bloody careers of all these 
men, It Is to be said that the law has been sin- 
gularly lenient with them. Yet the Northfield 
Incident was conclusive, and was the worst back- 
set ever received by any gang of bad men; un- 
less, perhaps, that was the defeat of the Dalton 
gang at CoffeyvUle, Kansas, some years later, 
the story of which Is given In the following 
chapter. 



The Outlaw yji 



Chapter XXI 

Bad Men of the Indian Nations — A Hotbed 
of Desperadoes — Reasons for Bad Men in the 
Indian Nations — The Dalton Boys — The Most 
Desperate Street Fight of the West. : : : 

WHAT is true for Texas, in the record 
of desperadoism, is equally applica- 
ble to the country adjoining Texas 
upon the north, long known under the general 
title of the Indian Nations; although it is now 
rapidly being divided and allotted under the in- 
creasing demands of an ever-advancing civili- 
zation. 

The great breeding ground of outlaws has 
ever been along the line of demarcation be- 
tween the savage and the civilized. Here in 
the Indian country, as though In a hotbed espe- 
cially contrived, the desperado has flourished 
for generations. The Indians themselves re- 
tained much their old savage standards after 



372 The Story of 

they had been placed in this supposedly perpet- 
ual haven of refuge by the government. They 
have been followed, ever since the first move- 
ment of the tribes into these reservations, by 
numbers of unscrupulous whites such as hang 
on the outskirts of the settlements and rebel at 
the requirements of civilization. Many white 
men of certain type married among the Indians, 
and the half-breed is reputed as a product in- 
heriting the bad traits of both races and the 
good ones of neither — a sweeping statement not 
always wholly true. Among these also was a 
large infusion of negro blood, emanating from 
the slaves brought in by the Cherokees, and 
added to later by negroes moving in and marry- 
ing among the tribes. These mixed bloods 
seem to have been little disposed toward the 
ways of law and order. Moreover, the system 
of law was here, of course, altogether different 
from that of the States. The freedom from re- 
straint, the exemption from law, which always 
marked the border, here found their last abid- 
ing place. The Indians were not adherents to 
the white man's creed, save as to the worst fea- 
tures, and they kept their own creed of blood. 
No man will ever know how many murders 
have been committed in these fair and pleasant 



The Outlaw 373 

savannahs, among these rough hills or upon 
these rolling grassy plains from the time Wil- 
liam Clark, the "Red Head Chief," began the 
government work of settling the tribes in these 
lands, then supposed to be far beyond the 
possible demands of the white population of 
America. 

Life could be lived here with small exertion. 
The easy gifts of the soil and the chase, coupled 
with the easy gifts of the government, unsettled 
the minds of all from those habits of steady in- 
dustry and thrift which go with the observance 
of the law. If one coveted his neighbor's pos- 
sessions, the ready arbitrament of firearms told 
whose were the spoils. Human life has been 
cheap here for more than half a hundred years ; 
and this condition has endured directly up to 
and into the days of white civilization. The 
writer remembers very well that in his hunting 
expeditions of twenty years ago it was always 
held dangerous to go into the Nations ; and this 
was true whether parties went in across the 
Neutral Strip, or farther east among the Osages 
or the Creeks. The country below Coffeyville 
was wild and remote as we saw it then, although 
now it is settling up, is traversed by railroads, 
and is slowly passing into the hands of white 



374 ^^^ Story of 

men in severalty, as fast as the negroes release 
their lands, or as fast as the government allows 
the Indians to give individual titles. In those 
days it was a matter of small concern if a trav- 
eler never returned from a journey among the 
timber clad mountains, or the black jack thickets 
along the rivers; and many was the murder 
committed thereabouts that never came to light. 

In and around the Indian Nations there have 
also always been refugees from the upper fron- 
tier or from Texas or Arkansas. The country 
was long the natural haven of the lawless, as 
it has long been the designated home of a wild 
population. In this region the creed has been 
much the same even after the wild ethics of the 
cow men yielded to the scarcely more lawful 
methods of the land boomer. 

Each man in the older days had his own no- 
tion of personal conduct, as each had his own 
opinions about the sacredness of property. It 
was natural that train robbing and bank loot- 
ing should become recognized industries when 
the railroads and towns came into this fertile 
region, so long left sacred to the chase. The 
gangs of such men as the Cook boys, the Wick- 
cliffe boys, or the Dalton boys, were natural and 
logical products of an environment. That this 



The Outlaw 375 

should be the more likely may be seen from the 
fact that for a decade or more preceding the 
great rushes of the land grabbers, the exploits 
of the James and Younger boys in train and 
bank robbing had filled all the country with the 
belief that the law could be defied successfully 
through a long term of years. The Cook boys 
acted upon this basis, until at length marshals 
shot them both, killed one and sent the rem- 
nants of the other to the penitentiary. 

Since it would be impossible to go into any 
detailed mention of the scores and hundreds 
of desperadoes who have at different times been 
produced by the Nations, it may be sufficient to 
give a few of the salient features of the careers 
of the band which, as well as any, may be 
called typical of the Indian Nations brand of 
desperadoism — the once notorious Dalton boys. 

The Dalton family lived in lower Kansas, 
near Coffeyville, which was situated almost di- 
rectly upon the border of the Nations. They 
engaged in farming, and indeed two of the 
family were respectable farmers near Coffey- 
ville within the last three or four years. The 
mother of the family still lives near Oklahoma 
City, where she secured a good claim at the time 
of the opening of the Oklahoma lands to white 



376 The Story of 

settlement. The father, Lewis Dalton, was a 
Kentucky man and served In the Mexican war. 
He later moved to Jackson county, Missouri, 
near the home of the notorious James and 
Younger boys, and In 1851 married Adelaide 
Younger, they removing some years later from 
Missouri to Kansas. Thirteen children were 
born to them, nine sons and four daughters. 
Charles, Henry, Littleton and Coleman Dal- 
ton were respected and quiet citizens. All the 
boys had nerve, and many of them reached of- 
fice as deputy marshals. Franklin Dalton was 
killed while serving as deputy United States 
marshal near Fort Smith, In 1887, his brother 
Bob being a member of the same posse at the 
time his fight was made with a band of horse 
thieves who resisted arrest. Grattan Dalton, 
after the death of his brother Franklin, was 
made a deputy United States marshal, after 
the curious but efficient Western fashion of set- 
ting dangerous men to work at catching danger- 
ous men. He and his posse In 1888 went after 
a bad Indian, who. In the melee, shot Grattan 
In the arm and escaped. Grattan later served 
as United States deputy marshal In Muskogee 
district, where the courts certainly needed men 
of stern courage as executives, for they had to 



The Outlaw 377 

deal with the most desperate and fearless class 
of criminals the world ever knew. Robert R. 
Dalton, better known as Bob Dalton, served on 
the posses of his brothers, and soon learned 
what it was to stand up and shoot while being 
shot at. He turned out to be about the boldest 
of the family, and was accepted as the clan 
leader later on In their exploits. He also was 
a deputy United States marshal at the danger- 
ous stations of Fort Smith and Wichita, having 
much to do with the desperadoes of the Nations. 
He was chief of the Osage police for some time, 
and saw abundance of violent scenes. Emmett 
Dalton was also possessed of cool nerve, and 
was soon known as a dangerous man to affront. 
All the boys were -good shots, but they seemed 
to have cared more for the Winchester than 
the six-shooter In their exploits. In which they 
were perhaps wise, for the rifle Is of course far 
the surer when it is possible of use; and men 
mostly rode In that country with rifle under leg. 
Uncle Sam Is obliged to take such material 
for his frontier peace officers as proves Itself 
eflicient In serving processes. A coward may be 
highly moral, but he will not do as a border 
deputy. The personal character of some of the 
most famous Western deputies would scarcely 



378 The Story of 

bear careful scrutiny, but the government at 
Washington is often obliged to wink at that 
sort of thing. There came a time when It re- 
mained difficult longer to wink at the methods 
of the Daltons as deputies. In one case they 
ran off with a big bunch of horses and sold them 
in a Kansas town. On account of this episode, 
Grattan, William, and Emmett Dalton made a 
hurried trip to California. Here they became 
restless, and went back at their old trade, think- 
ing that no one even on the Pacific Slope had 
any right to cause them fear. They held up 
a train in Tulare county and killed a fireman, 
but were repulsed. Later arrested and tried, 
William was cleared, but Grattan was sentenced 
to twenty years in the penitentiary. He escaped 
from jail before he got to the penitentiary, and 
rejoined Emmett at the old haunts in the Na- 
tions, Emmett having evaded arrest in Cali- 
fornia. The Southern Pacific railway had a 
standing offer of $6,000 for the robbers at the 
time they were killed. 

The Daltons were now more or less obliged 
to hide out, and to make a living as best they 
could, which meant by robbery. On May 9, 
1 89 1, the Santa Fe train was held up at Whar- 
ton, Oklahoma Territory, and the express car 



The Outlaw 379 

was robbed, the bandits supposedly being the 
Daltons. In June of the following year another 
Santa Fe train was robbed at Red Rock, in the 
Cherokee strip. The 'Frisco train was robbed 
at Vinita, Indian Territory. An epidemic of 
the old methods of the James and Younger 
bands seemed to have broken out in the new 
railway region of the Southwest. The next 
month the Missouri, Kansas and Texas train 
was held up at Adair, Indian Territory, and a 
general fight ensued between the robbers and 
the armed guard of the train, assisted by citi- 
zens of the town. A local physician was killed 
and several officers and citizens wounded, but 
none of the bandits was hurt, and they got away 
with a heavy loot of the express and baggage 
cars. At Wharton they had been less fortunate, 
for though they killed the station agent, they 
were rounded up and one of their men, Dan 
Bryant, was captured, later killing and being 
killed by United States deputy Ed. Short, as 
mentioned in an earlier chapter. Dick Broad- 
well joined the Dalton gang about now, and 
they nearly always had a few members besides 
those of their own family; their gang being 
made up and conducted on much the same lines 
of the James boys gang of Missouri, whose ex- 



380 The Story of 

plolts they Imitated and used as text for their 
bolder deeds. In fact It was the boast of the 
leader, Bob Dalton, In the CoffeyvIUe raid, that 
he was going to beat anything the James boys 
ever did: to rob two banks In one town at the 
same time. 

Bank robbing was a side line of activity with 
the Daltons, but they did fairly well at It. They 
held up the bank at El Reno, at a time when 
no one was In the bank except the president's 
wife, and took $10,000, obliging the bank to 
suspend business. By this time the whole coun- 
try was aroused against them, as It had been 
against the James and Younger boys. Pinker- 
ton detectives had blanket commissions offered, 
and railway and express companies offered re- 
wards running Into the thousands. Each train 
across the Indian Nations was accompanied for 
months by a heavily armed guard concealed In 
the baggage and express cars. Passengers 
dreaded the journey across that country, and the 
slightest halt of the train for any cause was 
sure to bring to the lips of all the word of fear, 
"the Daltons!" It seems almost incredible of 
belief that, In these modern days of fast rail- 
way service, of the telegraph and of rapidly in- 
creasing settlements, the work of these men 



The Outlaw 381 

could so long have been continued; but such, 
none the less, was the case. The law was power- 
less, and demonstrated its own unfitness to safe- 
guard life and property, as so often it has in this 
country. And, as so often has been the case, 
outraged society at length took the law into 
its own hands and settled the matter. 

The full tale of the Dalton robberies and 
murders will never be known, for the region 
in which they operated was reticent, having its 
own secrets to protect; but at last there came 
the climax in which the band was brought into 
the limelight of civilized publicity. They lived 
on the border of savagery and civilization. Now 
the press, the telegraph, the whole fabric of 
modern life, lay near at hand. Their last bold 
raid, therefore, in which they crossed from the 
country of reticence into that of garrulous news 
gathering, made them more famous than they 
had ever been before. The raid on Coffeyville, 
October 5, 1892, both established and ended 
their reputation as desperadoes of the border. 

The rumor got out that the Daltons were 
down in the Nations, waiting for a chance to 
raid the town of Coffeyville, but the dreaded 
attack did not come off when it was expected. 
When it was delivered, therefore, it found the 



382 The Story of 

town quite unprepared. Bob Dalton was the 
leader In this enterprise. Emmett did not want 
to go. He declared that too many people knew 
them In CoffeyvUle, and that the job would 
prove too big for them to handle. He con- 
sented to join the party, however, when he 
found Bob determined to make the attempt In 
any case. There were In the band at that time 
Bob, Emmett, and Grattan Dalton, BUI Powers 
and Dick Broadwell. These lay In rendezvous 
near Tulsa, In the Osage country, two days be- 
fore the raid, and spent the night before In 
the timber on Onion creek, not far below town. 
They rode Into Coffeyvllle at half-past nine 
the following morning. The street being some- 
what torn up, they turned aside Into an alley 
about a hundred yards from the main street, 
and, dismounting, tied their horses, which were 
thus left some distance from the banks, the 
First National and the bank of C. M. Condon 
& Co., which were the objects of their design. 

Grattan Dalton, Dick Broadwell and Bill 
Powers stepped over to the Condon bank, which 
was occupied at the time by C. T. Carpenter, 
C. M. Ball, the cashier, and T. C. Babb, a book- 
keeper. Grattan Dalton threw down his rifle 
on Carpenter, with the customary command to 



The Outlaw 383 

put up his hands; the others being attended to 
by Powers and Broadwell. Producing a two- 
bushel sack, the leader ordered Carpenter to 
put all the cash into it, and the latter obeyed, 
placing three thousand dollars in silver and one 
thousand in currency in the sack. Grattan 
wanted the gold, and demanded that an inner 
safe inside the vault should be opened. The 
cashier. Ball, with a shifty falsehood, told him 
that they could not open that safe, for it was set 
on a time lock, and no one could open it before 
half-past nine o'clock. He told the outlaw that 
it was now twenty minutes after nine (although 
it was really twenty minutes of ten) ; and the 
latter said they could wait ten minutes. He 
was, however, uneasy, and was much of the 
mind to kill Ball on the spot, for he suspected 
treachery, and knew how dangerous any delay 
must be. 

It was a daring thing to do — to sit down in 
the heart of a civilized city, in broad daylight 
and on the most public street, and wait for a 
time lock to open a burglar-proof safe. Daring 
as it was, it was foolish and futile. As the rob- 
bers stood uneasily guarding their prisoners, 
the alarm was spread. A moment later firing 
began, and the windows of the bank were splin- 



384 The Story of 

tered with bullets. The robbers were trapped, 
Broadwell being now shot through the arm, 
probably by P. L. Williams from across the 
street. Yet they coolly went on with their 
work as they best could, Grattan Dalton order- 
ing Ball to cut the string of the bag and pour 
out the heavy silver, which would have encum- 
bered them too much in their flight. He asked 
If there was not a back way out, by which they 
could escape. He was shown a rear door, and 
the robbers stepped out, to find themselves In 
the middle of the hottest street fight any of 
them had ever known. The city marshal, 
Charles T. Connolly, had given the alarm, and 
citizens were hurrying to the street with such 
weapons as they could find at the hardware 
stores and In their own homes. 

Meantime Bob and Emmett Dalton had held 
up the First National Bank, ordering cashier 
Ayres to hand out the money, and terrorizing 
two or three customers of the bank who hap- 
pened to be present at the time. Bob knew 
Thos. G. Ayres, and called him by his first 
name, "Tom,*' said he, "go Into the safe and 
get out that money — get the gold, too." He 
followed Ayres Into the vault, and discovered 
two packages of $5,000 each In currency, which 



The Outlaw 385 

he tossed Into his meal sack. The robbers here 
also poured out the silver, and having cleaned 
up the bank as they supposed, drove the occu- 
pants out of the door in front of them. As 
they got into the street they were fired upon 
by George Cublne and C. S. Cox; but neither 
shot took effect. Emmett Dalton stood with 
his rifle under his arm, coolly tying up the neck 
of the sack which held the money. They then 
both stepped back into the bank, and went out 
through the back door, which was opened for 
them by W. H. Shepherd, the bank teller, who, 
with Tom Ayres and B. S. Ayres, the book- 
keeper, made the bank force on hand. J. H. 
Brewster, C. H. Hollingsworth and A. W. 
Knotts were in the bank on business, and were 
joined by E. S. Boothby; all these being left 
unhurt. 

The firing became general as soon as the rob- 
bers emerged from the two bank buildings. 
The first man to be shot by the robbers was 
Charles T. Gump, who stood not far from the 
First National Bank armed with a shotgun. 
Before he could fire Bob Dalton shot him 
through the hand, the same bullet disabling his 
shotgun. A moment later, a young man named 
Lucius Baldwin started down the alley, armed 



386 The Story of 

with a revolver. He met Bob and Emmett, 
who ordered him to halt, but for some reason 
he kept on toward them. Bob Dalton said, 
"ril have to kill you,'' and so shot him through 
the chest. He died three hours later. 

Bob and Emmett Dalton now passed out of 
the alley back of the First National Bank, and 
came into Union street. Here they saw George 
B. Cubine standing with his Winchester in his 
hands, and an instant later Cubine fell dead, 
with three balls through his body. Near him 
was Charles Brown, an old man, who was also 
armed. He was the next victim, his body fall- 
ing near that of Cubine, though he lived for a 
few hours after being shot. All four of these 
victims of the Daltons were shot at distances 
of about forty or fifty yards, and with rifles, 
the revolver being more or less uncertain at such 
ranges even in practiced hands. All the gang 
had revolvers, but none used them. 

Thos. G. Ayres, late prisoner in the First 
National Bank, ran into a store near by as soon 
as he was released, caught up a Winchester and 
took a station near the street door, waiting for 
the bandits to come out at that entrance of the 
bank. Here he was seen by Bob Dalton, who 
had gone through the alley. Bob took aim 



The Outlaw 387 

and at seventy-five yards shot Ayres through 
the head. Friends tried to draw his body back 
into the store, but these now met the fire of 
Grattan Dalton and Powers, who, with the crip- 
pled Broadwell, were now coming out of their 
alleyway. 

T. A. Reynolds, a clerk in the same store, 
who went to the door armed, received a shot 
through the foot, and thus made the third 
wounded man then in that building. H. H. 
Isham, one of the owners of the store, aided 
by M. A. Anderson and Charles K. Smith, 
joined in the firing. Grattan Dalton and Bill 
Powers were shot mortally before they had 
gone more than a few steps from the door of 
the Condon bank. Powers tried to get into a 
door when he was shot, and kept his feet when 
he found the door locked, managing to get to 
his horse in the alley before he was killed by a 
second shot. Grattan Dalton also kept his feet, 
and reached cover back of a barn about seventy 
yards from Walnut Street, the main thorough- 
fare. He stood at bay here, and kept on firing. 
City marshal Connolly, carrying a rifle, ran 
across to a spot near the corner of this barn. 
He had his eye on the horses of the bandits, 
which were still hitched in the alley. His back 



388 The Story of 

was turned toward Grattan Dalton. The lat- 
ter must have been crippled somewhere In his 
right arm or shoulder, for he did not raise 
his rifle to his face, but fired from his hip, shoot- 
ing Connolly down at a distance of about twenty 
feet or so. 

There was a slight lull at this point of the 
street fight, and during this Dick Broadwell, 
who had been wounded again In the back, 
crawled Into concealment In a lumber yard near 
by the alley where the horses were tied. He 
crept out to his horse and mounted, but just 
as he started away met the livery man, John J. 
Kloehr, who did some of the best shooting re- 
corded by the citizens. Kloehr was hurrying 
thither with Carey Seaman, the latter armed 
with a shotgun. Kloehr fired his rifle and Sea- 
man his shotgun, and both struck Broadwell, 
who rode away, but fell dead from his horse 
a short distance outside the town. 

Bob and Emmett Dalton, after killing Cu- 
blne and Brown and shooting Ayres, hurried on 
to join their companions and to get to their 
horses. At an alleyway junction they spied 
F. D. Benson climbing out of a window, and 
fired at him, but missed. An instant later, as 
Bob stepped Into full view of those who were 



The Outlaw 389 

firing from the Isham store, he was struck by 
a ball and badly wounded. He walked slowly 
across the alley and sat down on a pile of stones, 
but like his b^-^'-her Grattan, he kept his rifle 
going, though mortally shot. He fired once 
at Kloehr, but was unsteady and missed him. 
Rising to his feet he walked a few paces and 
leaned against the corner of a barn, firing two 
more shots. He was then killed by Kloehr, 
who shot him through the chest. 

By this time Grattan Dalton was feebly try- 
ing to get to his horse. He passed the body of 
Connolly, whom he had killed, faced toward his 
pursuers and tried to fire. He, too, fell before 
Kloehr's Winchester, shot through the throat, 
dropping close to the body of Connolly. 

Emmett Dalton was now the only one of the 
band left alive. He was as yet unwounded, 
and he got to his horse. As he attempted to 
mount a number of shots were fired at him, and 
these killed the two horses belonging to Bob 
Dalton and Bill Powers, who by this time had 
no further use for horses. Two horses hitched 
to an oil wagon in the street were also killed 
by wild shots. Emmett got into his saddle, but 
was shot through the right arm and through 
the left hip and groin. He still clung to the 



390 T^he Story of 

sack of money they had taken at the First 
National Bank, and he still kept his nerve and 
his wits even under such pressure of peril. He 
might have escaped, but instead he rode back to 
where Bob was lying, and reached down his hand 
to help him up behind himself on the horse. 
Bob was dying and told him it was no use to 
try to help him. As Emmett stooped down to 
reach Bob's arm, Carey Seaman fired both bar- 
rels of his shotgun into his back, Emmett drop- 
ping near Bob and falling upon the sack, con- 
taining over $20,000 in cash. Men hurried up 
and called to him to throw up his hands. He 
raised his one unhurt arm and begged for mercy. 
It was supposed he would die, and he was not 
lynched, but hurried away to a doctor's office 
near by. 

In the little alley where the last scene of this 
bloody fight took place there were found three 
dead men, one dying man and one badly 
wounded. Three dead horses lay near the same 
spot. In the whole fight, which was of course 
all over in a few moments, there were killed 
four citizens and four outlaws, three citizens 
and one outlaw being wounded. Less than a 
dozen citizens did most of the shooting, of 
which there was considerable, eighty bullet 



The Outlaw 391 

marks being found on the front of the Condon 
bank alone. 

The news of this bloody encounter was In- 
stantly flashed over the country, and within a 
few hours the town was crowded with sight- 
seers who came In by train loads. The dead 
bandits were photographed, and the story of 
the fight was told over and over again, not 
always with uniformity of detail. Emmett 
Dalton, before he was sent to the penitentiary, 
confessed to different crimes, not all of them 
hitherto known, which the gang had at different 
times committed. 

So ended In blood the career of as bloody a 
band as might well be discovered In the robber 
history of any land or time of the world. Indeed, 
It is doubtful if any country ever saw leagues 
of robbers so desperate as those which have 
existed in America, any with hands so red in 
blood. This fact is largely due to the peculiar 
history of this country, with its rapid develop- 
ment under swift modern methods of transpor- 
tation. In America the advance to the west- 
ward of the fighting edge of civilization, where^ 
it meets and mingles with savagery, has been 
more rapid than has ever been known in the 
settlement of any country of the world. More- 



392 The Story of 

over, this has taken place at precisely that time 
when weapons of the most deadly nature have 
been Invented and made at a price permitting 
all to own them and many to become extremely 
skilled with them. The temptation and the 
means of murder have gone hand in hand. And 
In time the people, not the organized law 
courts, have applied the remedy when the time 
has come for it. To-day the Indian Nations are 
no more than a name. Civilization has taken 
them over. Statehood has followed territorial 
organization. Presently rich farms will make a 
continuous sea of grain across what was once 
a flood of crime, and the wheat will grow yel- 
low, and the cotton white, where so long the 
grass was red. 



The Outlaw 393 



Chapter XXII 

Desperadoes of the Cities — Great Cities Now 
the Most Dangerous Places — City Bad Men*s 
Contempt for Womanhood — Nine Thousand 
Murders a Year, and Not Two Hundred Pun- 
ished — The Reasonableness of Lynch Law, : 

IT was stated early In these pages that the 
great cities and the great wildernesses are 
the two homes for bold crimes; but we 
have been most largely concerned with the lat- 
ter In our studies of desperadoes and In our 
search for examples of disregard of the law. 
We have found a turbulence, a self-Insistence, 
a vigor and self-reliance in the American char- 
acter which at times has led on to lawlessness 
on our Western frontier. 

Conditions have changed. We still revel in 
Wild West literature, but there Is little of the 
wild left In the West of to-day, little of the old 
lawlessness. The most lawless time of America 



394 ^^^ Story of 

is to-day, but the most lawless parts of America 
/:/ are the most highly civilized parts. The most 
dangerais section of America is not the West, 
i but the East. 

The worst men are no longer those of the 
mountains or the plains, but of the great cities. 
The most absolute lawlessness exists under the 
shadow of the tallest temples of the law, and in 
the penetralia of that society which vaunts it- 
self as the supreme civilization of the world. 
We have had no purpose in these pages to praise 
any sort of crime or to glorify any manner of 
bad deeds ; but if we were forced to make choice 
among criminals, then by all means that choice 
should be, must be, not the brutal murderer of 
the cities, but the desperado of the old West. 
The one is an assassin, the other was a warrior ; 
the one is a dastard, the other was something of 
a man. 

A lawlessness which arises to magnitude is 
not called lawlessness; and killing hiore than 
murder Is called war. The great industrial cen- 
ters show us what ruthlessness may mean, more 
cruel and more dangerous than the worst deeds 
of our border fighting men. As for the crim- 
inal records of our great cities, they surpass 
by Infinity those of the rudest wilderness an- 



The Outlaw 395 

archy. Their nature at times would cause a 
hardened desperado of the West to blu§h for 
shame. 

One distinguished feature of city badness is 
the great number of crimes against women, 
ranging from robbery to murder. Now, the 
desperado, the bandit, the robber of the wildest 
West never made war on any woman, rarely 
ever robbed a woman, even when women min- 
gled with the victims of a "stand and deliver" 
general robbery of a stage or train. The man 
who would kill a woman in the West could 
never meet his fellow in fair fight again. The 
rope was ready for him, and that right quickly. 

But how is it in the great cities, under the 
shadow of the law? Forget the crimes of in- 
dustrialism, the sweat-shops and factories, 
which undermine the last hope of a nation — the 
constitution of its women — and take the open 
and admitted crimes. One city will suffice for 
this, and that may be the city of Chicago. 

In Chicago, in the past twenty-four years, 
very nearly two thousand murders have been 
committed; and of these, two hundred remain 
mysteries to-day, their perpetrators having gone 
free and undetected. In the past year, seven- 
teen women have been murdered in Chicago, 



396 The Story of 

some under circumstances too horrible to men- 
tion. In a list of fifty murders by unknown 
parties during the last few years, the whole 
gamut of dastardly crime has been run. The 
slaughter list is appalling. The story of this 
killing of women is so repellant that one turns 
to the bloodiest deeds of Western personal com- 
bats with a feeling of relief; and as one does so 
one adds, *'Here at least were men." 

The story of Chicago is little worse, accord- 
ing to her population, than that of New York, 
of Boston, of any large city. Foot up the 
total of the thousands of murders committed 
every year in America. Then, if you wish to 
become a criminal statistician, compare that 
record with those of England, France or Ger- 
many. We kill ten persons to England's one; 
and we kill them in the cities. 

In the cities it is unlawful to wear arms, and 
to protect one's self against armed attack is 
therefore impossible. In the cities we have 
policemen. Against real fighting men, the aver- 
age policeman would be helpless. Yet, such as he 
is, he must be the sole fence against the bloody- 
minded who do not scruple at robbery and mur- 
der. In the labor riots, the streets of a city 
are avenues of anarchy, and none of our weak- 



The Outlaw 397 



souled ofEcIals, held In the cursed thrall of poli- 
tics, seems able to prevent it. A dozen town 
marshals of the old stripe would restore peace 
and fill a graveyard in one day of any strike; 
and their peace would be permanent. A real 
town marshal at the head of a city police force, 
with real fighting men under him, could restore 
peace and fill a graveyard in one month in any 
city; and that peace would be permanent. If 
we wished the law, we could have it. 

The history of the bloodiest lawlessness of 
the American past shows continual repetitions. 
First, liberty is construed to mean license, and 
license unrebuked leads on to insolence. Still 
left unrebuked, license organizes against the 
law, taking the form of gangs, factions, bandit 
clans. Then in time the spirit of law arises, 
and not the law, but the offended individuals 
wronged by too much license, take the matter 
into their own hands, not waiting for the courts, 
but executing a swifter justice. It is the terror 
of lynch law which has, in countless instances, 
been the foundation of the later courts, with 
their slow moving and absurdly Inefficient meth- 
ods. In time the Inefficiency of the courts once 
more begets impatience and contempt. The 
people again rebel at the fact that their govern- 



398 The Story of 

ment gives them no government, that their 
courts give them no justice, that their peace 
officers give them no protection. Then they 
take matters into their hands once more, and 
show both courts and criminals that the people 
still are strong and terrible. 

The deprecation of lynch law, and the whin- 
ing cry that the law should be supported, that 
the courts should pass on the punishment, is 
in the first place the plea of the weak, and in 
the second place, the plea of the ignorant. He 
has not read the history of this country, and has 
never understood the American character who 
says lynch law is wrong. It has been the sal- 
vation of America a thousand times. It may 
perhaps again be her salvation. 

In one way or another the American people 
will assert the old vigilante principle that a 
man's life, given , him by God, and a man's 
property, earned by his own labor, are things 
he is entitled to defend or have defended. He 
never wholly delegates this right to any gov- 
ernment. He may rescind his qualified delega- 
tion when he finds his chosen servants unfaith- 
ful or inefficient; and so have back again clean 
his own great and imperishable human rights. 
A wise law and one enforced is tolerable. An 



The Outlaw 399 

unjust and impure law Is intolerable, and it Is 
no wrong to cast off allegiance to It. If so, 
Magna Charta was wrong, and the American 
Revolution earth's greatest example of lynch 
law ! 

Conclusions parallel to these are expressed 
by no less a citizen than Andrew D. White, 
long United States Minister to Germany, who, 
in the course of an address at a prominent uni- 
versity of America, In the year 1906, made the 
following bold remarks : 

"There Is a well-defined criminal class in all 
of our cities ; a class of men who make crime a 
profession. Deaths by violence are Increasing 
rapidly. Our record Is now larger than any 
other country of the world. The number of 
homicides that are punished by lynching ex- 
ceeds the number punished by due process of 
law. There Is nothing more nonsensical ^or 
ridiculous than the goody-goody talk about 
lynching. Much may be said In favor of Gold- 
win Smith's quotation, that 'there are commu- 
nities In which lynch law Is better than any 
other.' 

"The pendulum has swung from extreme 
severity In the last century to extreme laxity In 
this century. There has sprung up a certain 



400 The Story of 

sentimental sympathy. In the word of a dis- 
tinguished jurist, 'the taking of life for the 
highest crime after due process of law is the 
only taking of life which the American people 
condemn.' 

"In the next year 9,000 people will be mur- 
dered. As I stand here to-day I tell you that 
9,000 are doomed to death with all the cruelty 
of the criminal heart, and with no regard for 
home and families; and two-thirds will be due 
to the maudlin sentiment sometimes called 
mercy. 

"I have no sympathy for the criminal. My 
sympathy Is for those who will be murdered; 
for their families and for their children. This 
sham humanltarianism has become a stench. 
The cry now is for righteousness. The past 
generation has abolished human slavery. It is 
for the present to deal with the problems of 
the future, and among them this problem of 
crime." 

Against doctrine of this sort none will pro- 
test but the politicians in power, under whose 
lax administration of a great trust there has 
arisen one of the saddest spectacles of human 
history, the decay of the great American prin- 
ciples of liberty and fair play. The criminals 



The Outlaw 40 1 

of our city are bold, because they, if not our- 
selves, know of this decay. They, if not 
ourselves, know the weakness of that political 
system to which we have, in carelessness equal- 
ing that of the California miners of old — a 
carelessness based upon a madness of money 
equal to or surpassing that of the gold stam- 
pedes — delegated our sacred personal rights to 
live freely, to own property, and to protect each 
for himself his home. 



THE END 



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